Take Me to Paradise
by AKimiB
Summary: Saeran/Gender Neutral Readerw/Backstory You have nothing but the time on your hands, phone, wallet and clothes. Boredom and the need for SOMETHING different leads you to download whatever app your finger touches first. What awaits is Unknown, and definitely unforgettable. (Lines from story will most likely be changed/paraphrased) Spoilers for secret ends. ANGST
1. Chapter 1

_Please note before reading that this story will include the following, in case you want to avoid:_  
Implied/Referenced Brainwashing  
Non-Consensual Drug Use/Consensual Drug Use  
mature themes  
Medical issues  
Depression  
Apathy  
gender neutral reader  
Slow Burn  
Hostage  
Social Anxiety  
Anxiety Issues  
Awkwardness  
Desperation  
Religious Cult  
Sex and Sexual Acts even if there are no revealing names to the bits

~~~OOO~~~ooo~~~OOO~~~ooo~~~OOO

It's another day. A day just like all the ones before.

You woke up, put on a smile to complete your perfectly maintained facade. You feel nothing, the taste of your breakfast is bland; you can already tell. It always is, no matter how many spices you sprinkle in or whether you choose different ingredients or not.

You burn your hand on the pan, but aside from a quick breath sucked in through your teeth, you only stare at it.

It doesn't matter.

You slide your food from the sizzling pan to your waiting plate and eat right at the counter, your fork clinking on the dish, the only sound, cacophonous in your empty home.

In a blink of an eye, you are done feeding yourself and without a single thought on the matter, set your used utensils into the sink; turning on the faucet for a quick rinse for good measure. They can take care of the rest. It's not like these are yours anymore anyway.

You don't know why you wake up so early every morning. Habit? Maybe. It's been a while since you've really had to be anywhere or do anything. It's been years since you've woken to accompany anyone. You've been living on your savings. But, maybe, even more so from the latter... is hope the reason? Maybe something different will happen?

Nah, couldn't be. That idea is squelched before it even has a chance to bloom. False hope is the absolute worst.

You've put in multiple applications for work at every business in your city and the surrounding three... still you've heard no word. You've tried putting your resume online and even that received no hits.

Nothing will change, you are sure of this... And yet, you keep smiling.

That's what your parents and grandparents taught you. They told you so much that you wish you could remember more clearly but you can't and they are no longer alive to remind you. It's bittersweet, really.

You are alone, and even still, you smile. Because, even if you feel you've died right alongside your loved ones on the inside, you never want to give anyone you may come into contact with even an inkling of that negative emotion.

A single smile can change a life, right? You sigh, that fake curve dropping ever-so-slightly. No one's here to see you, couldn't hurt. You need something to do today. Something to hold your attention from the apartment you have to vacate today and the distinct lack of possessions you own.

It's just you, your phone, charger, the clothes and wallet in your bag and the keys you are about to return to the landlord. You absently swipe at an errant strand of hair, getting it out of your face before your mask breaks and you break down.

So fragile, yet so numb at the same time... Who'd a' thunk it possible?

Tap, tap. Tap, tap.

Such a lonely sound at six sharp. The hall is vacant, doors closed, ex-neighbors all probably still grasping at the last strings of sleep's weave before their workdays begin, and here you are walking the walk of shame; no job, no home, grinning like a psycho and browsing the appstore with a small prayer that something will catch your interest.

You barely scroll down, mistap and something starts downloading. You didn't even check what it was, but do you even care at this point? You sigh internally, leaving it be, and you continue on through the dim hall and through the door to the stairwell.

At least in here, there is some form of ambient noise to distract you from yourself. The whirring of what you believe to be a few dryers and washing machines are keeping you company, the trek down itself automatic and almost mechanical.

Thud, thud. Thud, thud.

If you had kept in contact with past friends from highschool or university, you are certain that someone would have come up with something cute and inspirational...

Thud, thud. Thud, thud.

Something like this being the nomadic stage before a grand adventure. Or, that all this bad luck will break once you're struck with your oncoming good luck.

Thud, thud. Thud, thud.

You huff a humorless chuckle as you turn the nob, exiting the stairwell.

"Sure...Sure."

The gaping mouth of the dropbox is waiting, and you pause only slightly before letting the metal fall from your fingertips. It clinks and scrapes its way down the basket waiting below, catching what remains of your pride and livelihood as an adult. Your eyes close, a steady breath fills your lungs and you push it out slowly.

It is then that your phone decides to screech in an unholy manner. You scramble, your hands swatting at the smudged, glass front doors for the freedom of the outside world to fish the offending object out of your pocket. Swiping the lock screen away, your eyes fall upon a single message.

("Can you see this?")

"The heck?" You are absolutely stunned. Was this message really worth the screaming of damned souls? Not at all... But hey, it's something different, for sure.

You didn't even open the app, but you just can't ignore the reach for connection from a fellow human.


	2. Chapter 2

("?") Simple, efficient, straight to the point. Your reply is the most elegant in verse of inquisition. You don't wait for a reply, your feet start moving, no set direction motivating you other than the wind blowing at your back and soft cries of hidden insects. 

The sun is just barely above the cityscape, clouds lit like blazing cotton candy flow along the heavens peacefully and your phone buzzes, grabbing your attention once more. You are thankful that the otherworldly noise seems to have dissipated; having been just a one-time fluke. You skim the strange screen, this "Unknown" person has some sort of complex where they just have to let someone know about a phone or something. 

Whatever. You don't really care for the mission of self-sacrificial knights, but you play along. Its better than stomping along the relatively empty streets by yourself. You have nothing to do for the time being, so... Why not?

Some how or another, you managed to coax a generic picture of the guy. Alright, well, at least you have a face to put to the text. Great. Sparing a glance at the headlights of a passing car, the engine roars as it passes you, fading just as quickly as it turns off the main street.

The sole of your shoe scrapes and catches on the sidewalk, and you stumble a bit but you right yourself before you manage to face-plant. Looking around, and flimsily dusting off for no reason, you maintain that no one observed your klutz. You think, anyway.

Green-eyed guy seems to be pretty adamant about leaving a note at some address. You shrug to yourself.

You have nothing to gain or lose. It's not like you care one way or another. You had no plans for the day, other than hitting up a shelter some time before dusk. You agree to help him out. If you can ease a mind, cool. If you get jumped... Whatever. Spice of life, right? Should you decide, you can fend for yourself.

Surprisingly, it only takes you about twenty boring minutes of strolling leisurely past the flickering neon signs of opening shops and nearly being hit by a truck zipping into a parking lot before you are right in front of a super tall, modern building.

Apartment, huh? More like a condo... This seems to be one of the swankier places that you blatantly ignored because all the spaces were WAY above your budget when you set off, out of your hometown and into the unforgiving world of grown folk. Steeling yourself, you nod.

"Well, here goes nothing." Just barely you exhale the words. Headlong you go into battle with the freakily speedy revolving door.

Swiftly enough, you duck in. You definitely don't want to be a spectacle of flailing limbs by being caught in this contraption in front of whatever well-to-do residents of this veritable sky-scraper.

As fast as you slide in, you sprint out just as quick. The lobby floor is practically a mirror with how well it shines; the pleasant musk of wax still lingers in the cool air. Swirled grey marble walls reflect the cylindrical white lights raining down from above like stagnant glitter and it takes you a moment to get your bearings.

"Elevator..." Chittering to yourself, your emulsified orbs dance to the left then to the right and back again. Apparently there are elevators and stairs to either side, so, for practicality sake, you shuffle to the closest offshoot, the right. "Alrighty."

Some toe bouncing, fourteen floors and some peppy jazz later, your feet drag a bit down yet another long hall void of many other entries. It almost looks af if the owner shares this floor with maybe only one other occupant.

Dumbfounded at the class difference between your own homelessness and the probable wealthy resident, you stare at the door. You aren't jealous... not really. All people lead different lives, and you really can't fault someone for their own success. Good for them. Yay.

Instead of turnkey, this thing has a keypad. It is apparent that whoever lives here, enjoys privacy. A lot. Well, who doesn't? But this is like... on a whole other level. Kind of cold, distant. Almost as if it's asking you if you are sure you're good enough to be on this floor, standing like a dope, being a hindrance to it.

And yet, it's just a freaking door.

You hesitate a bit more, but eventually, your shaky digit finally reaches out to press the doorbell- annnd your phone buzzes. You cough out a huff and answer the beckoning of this "Unknown" being, relaying your presence within the specified location. He wants to know if there's a place to input a pass code, and you let your dry humor get the best of you. It's only glaring at you, glinting in the decorative hung sconces' shine.

("Nope. Don't see anything like that.") Your lips curl, this person might be genuine, or they might not be... but this small victory is amusing at least. Propping against the small alcove, you rest.

("Are you sure?") Unknown's reply is nearly instant, but you pay it no mind as you're busy writing out a short note using your knee and explaining your situation. Slipping it under the door frame, along with your contact details in case this person is actually missing a phone, you figuratively pat yourself on the back.

Congrats on maybe being a good samaritan.

It makes no real sense to practically break in, and though you are tired of your day-to-day, minus a home from now onward, you are not willing to encroach upon someone else's livelihood. Your deed complete, phone in hand, your thumbs stroke out a ("Yep.") and send it.

("Are you really going to keep lying to me? I can see with my own eyes that it is there.") This line , it's supposed to creep you out, right? Well, instead, for some reason, your spine tingles and stomach begins to feel like it's home to a butterfly garden. It's a thrill of adrenaline, you've been caught, been naughty. What wonderful non-boring punishment awaits, hmm?

You're smirking now. Your feet tap along the corridor in shallow echoes, your hip bumps the button and you wait for the doors to ding. Maybe you should feign surprise? Maybe force out an acted freak out bit?

You decide against it once you hear the call of the lift. Stuffing your cell in your pocket, you chuckle under your breath a little.

The doors open, and you are no longer alone.

"Looks like the plan failed. Shame." His voice is distorted and both high and low as the prettiest eyes you've ever seen widen when you take a step into the car with him without the slightest flinch.


	3. Chapter 3

"Seems so." Cocking your head, you can't help but wonder how he managed to get through the public looking like he's about to stick up a bank with ninja stars and a whip... But, you keep that thought to yourself.

Bloop. One floor down.

"I should really get rid of you. You've seen me, could expose me... but..." The man trails off, sage pools darting to the side in thought. The peppy jazz playing in the background is certainly laughable at this point. "That would be such a waste." The words are more meant for himself than for you, but you can't deny that is made your heart flutter... however strange that may be.

Bloop.

"I sincerely hate to interrupt, but-" an eyebrow quirks at your words, they seem both playful and flat even to your own ears. "... What do you want from me."

Bloop.

"Hmm, he has an assistant, it wouldn't be bad for me to have one too, right?" This guy doesn't seem to have even heard you, still carrying on in his own one-sided conversation. "They're too cute to just... destroy."

Bloop.

Alright, you blushed, and blushed HARD. It's been quite some time since you've received any compliments, much less from a cute guy trying to make you commit crimes and otherwise having plotted to kill you.

Bloop.

Some things can be looked over, right? You snort at your own pathetic line of thought and it is more audible than you would have liked. But, you have Pretty-eye's full unblinking attention granted to you now. Good job.

Bloop.

You blame the awkwardness on the happy jazz band playing their tunes into the atmosphere and cough into your elbow. "What?"

Bloop.

"Follow me, to paradise." Weighty and drawn, the sentence hangs in the air. He's not asking your permission; he's offering you an alternative. And, as much as you wouldn't mind being man-handled and offed by someone as pleasing to the eye as him. You are curious and honestly, it has been way too long since you've felt this piqued by anything or any one.

Bloop.

Bloop.

You didn't notice, but your mouth is hanging open, and in simple motion, "Unknown" has pinched off his mask so that it hangs like a scarf round his neck, and his index finger is lifting your chin, closing the gap you weren't aware you were making.

Bloop.

Then you laugh, and it is nothing that resembles grace or composure. It takes a moment or two, you wipe the tears from your eyes and right yourself, stomach still clenching in the aftershock of your outburst.

Bloop.

He's still staring. He is absolutely serious.

Bloop.

"You do realize that this isn't some trashy romance novel." Sighing in good humor at his stilled features, and smile without putting much thought into it. "You can't just spring a line like that out of nowhere."

Bloop.

You get caught in his gaze and can't seem to look away.

Bloop.

"You're just like me." There's a hint of boyish wonder in his soft intonation. Hearing his unsynthesized voice is like a cool breeze during a summer scorcher and you shiver. You don't know what your life has in store for you. You are confused. You are lost. You don't know which way is up and which is down. But you are certain of this: you want to hear him MORE. "But I can offer you a place within Heaven: Magenta, a haven of absolution for sinners and lost lambs alike. Help us to write the new testament. Become a pillar of tomorrow's history. The new world of pleasure and peace await you, angel."

DING DING

The doors slide open in their lazy tracks. Your head is buzzing, respiration takes a grand effort... but you give him your answer and his perfect smile nearly makes you faint.

"O-okay..."

Or, maybe it really did, because blackness clouds your vision soon after. Thus, you literally fall for the boy in a religious cult. The last thing your senses pick up on are the lithe arms snaking around you and the heady smell of fresh air and electricity.

"So cute..." He muses, a giggle at his lips, "-to put your trust in me so easily. I'll be sure to treat you like royalty."


	4. Chapter 4

It's chilly out, you feel it in spots, but mostly you are warm. Comfortable, even. A fresh yet musky scent lulls you, the heartbeat at your ear soothes you, the swaying makes you want to cling onto the last vestiges of slumber...

WAIT!

Your eyelids flutter open to be met with rays of sunlight strobing into your vision through vividly emerald canopy every few seconds as you awaken with the slightest groan. The hold on you tightens slightly, but the grey and red-tinged ninja, prince, criminal, cultist boy doesn't spare you a glance. But you can tell he's smiling, mumbling to himself if that rumble you hear against your ear has anything to say about it.

Wh-what do you do in this situation? Should you try to move? Should you interrupt his conversational reverie with a polite cough to get his attention? Should you tap him? What should-

"I've got to pee." Your mouth moves quicker than your brain. He stops full-halt. Well, it worked, at least. Great work, achievement unlocked.

You are burning scarlet straight to your ears. But, his hold has not yet loosened and you have no idea how to recover yourself.

"So straightforward and honest." He laughs, but it is warped again and sounds like the coagulated thing nightmares are made of.

"Uh, well-" You try, and fail.

"I can't leave you alone here, it is dangerous in the mountain forests. I wouldn't want you to be attacked or fall down a hidden drop-off while you're fumbling about... Would I?" He chuckles to himself some more, sounding more the epitome of Satan's vocal orchestra as you fidget, hoping he'll take the hint and let you down. His glee subsides, and barely you hear him question again, "Would I~?"

You're still groggy, he's still hot, but man is the creep strong with him right now. You don't mind, of course. You practically offered yourself up on a platter polished with desperation, but still... You wriggle a bit more, he gasps, seemingly catching himself and he sets you down gentler than you were expecting, honestly.

"Please don't make me come after you." He grates out as if he's praying desperately. You aren't sure whether it was for your safety or for his own, but with a single look back on knobbly knees, you head for the first ample, leafy bush in your path to do your business; tensing muscles you didn't know possible in order to make your flow not so forceful or LOUD.

A distorted humming distracts you from your own impending embarrassment; It sounds so sad and sweet, if it weren't for the chipmunk Vader overlay that makes it into what you'd assume a dying music box possessed would play.

Seems your dignity, or ... what's left of it, is pretty safe in this guy's hands. ... For the time being, at least and so, you sigh in relief. Making sure you've cleaned yourself up and applied an luxurious glob of sanitizer, you trek back, far more aware of the rocky, uneven terrain.

With his back turned toward you, head tilted to the sky, the mangled tune lifts to the sky. His silhouette seems so guarded, strong yet so frail at the same time... And what did he mean that you both were the same? Questions, questions... But, you've got some time.

Interrogation is never a good icebreaker.

"So..." You announce your return most eloquently, punctuated with a well-timed stumble. For some reason, your legs just aren't working the way they're meant to. But they are still able to get you to point A to point B, so honestly, you have no real complaint. "Where exactly are we off to on this magical journey, fair sir?"

God, can you say anything right without sounding like a dumb?

"Hmm?" Without missing a beat, he responds. " Oh, haha... A few more hours west and we'll breach your new Eden, small one."

S-small one? Well, that's a new one for you.

"You'll fare better if I keep carrying you. The gas was a relatively strong one." Once more, he pulls his face guard down and you can see the traces of a wicked grin. A rather saucy wicked grin. You clear your parched throat. Is there anything to drink around here?

All that is keeping you from jumping into his arms again is embarrassment and the stench of your own inner devils confirming your wanton need for human contact. Hey, in your defense, the only conversation and touch you've had from ANYONE has been a handshake or two and asking for or handing in applications. You're lonely. You don't deny it.

So, instead, you settle for grabbing his elbow to steady you and cock your head.

"I-I'm good. But, just to be safe, is this okay?"

"Just don't fall~" Unknown guy spares you a side eye, "Mountain predators like to pick off the weakest of groups, hmm~."

"Uh, okay." You do your best to keep up, but your kneecaps just give out in inopportune intervals. "Wait... Did you say you gassed me?!"

"Did I?" He bites and sucks on his bottom lip like a kid guilty of stealing his own candy. "Disciples secret~.

Disciple? Well, that's another little tidbit of info on mister Unknown that you'll just tuck away for the time being. You don't want to go overboard with the questions and make things weird like you always do... But, would he mind? He doesn't seem to be all there either. You almost snort, but hold it in 'cause you have the will of a warrior.

This... This is actually quite nice. Aside from the woozy after-effect of being dosed a knock-out concoction and willingly following a religious cult's disciple, the path through the woods up this mountain is scenic. The sky is bluer than you've seen it in years, framed in the golds, greens and whites of sun, leaf and cloud. Simple and lovely. Like the melancholic melody your companion is humming again, timed wonderfully between the crunch of twigs and brush with each step.

You truly attempt to think back to when you've ever felt this peaceful, and you can't.

Sure, you haven't had the best life, but you certainly haven't had the worst. If you could speak about your thoughts now, your late parents and guardians would tell you that others have lived with less, with more pain and no love... that you should be grateful that your tragedies haven't lasted as long as theirs. Yes, your elders' words have always brought you back into perspective.

From your mother's liver disease since birth and her constant vocal idealization of a death that brings with it a release from chronic pain. Your grandmother's sight and hearing disabilities. Your father's struggle up from dirt-ridden poverty. Your grandfather's necessity to raise his eight brothers and sisters by himself.

You just have the secrets that wouldn't matter if you told anyone now, or not. You just have the solitude that devours you from the inside out. Just the voices in your mind confirming your failures every time you stop and mistakenly think too deeply. This numbness and lack of interest. This ever-tired feeling, wondering when it will all change, or... at the very least, end.

First world problems, right guys? In peace, rest your souls.

You stumble, and his hands are at your wrist and arm in an instant. It's charming if you really think about it. Your would-be murderer so tenderly cautious of your well-being.

"Are you okay?" He's got that choked voice going on again, and you smile harder, despite yourself.

"Yeah, just a little wobbly, but I can manage." You sniff out and brush the crushed leaves from the knee that went down.

"No..." His fingers release your wrist, ghosting up your arm to swipe feather-light beneath your left eye. "This." He presents an embarrassing stray tear to you, glistening at his jerky, pale tips.

"That's... that's nothing." You laugh it off a bit, because it really is nothing. Your mentality screams at you for a change of subject. "Uh... you come here often?"

Ugh! If you could dig a hole and disappear, you would.


	5. Chapter 5

"What's this~? A voice purrs into monitor-lit darkness. He leans into the grey-scale frames as he watches your phantom image on repeat as you slide something under the 'holy-moly-super-duper-top-secret-base's door. Key bleeps and dial tone ringing in his left ear, he waits for a familiar, sultry voice to answer.

"Luciel?" Oh-ho-ho, how that man's timbre gives the bespectacled red-head the tingles. He shimmies involuntarily and taps a few keys, rewinding and replaying the video for the twentieth time and exaggeratedly clears his throat.

"Hey V.," molten amber zeros in on your face as he pauses the frame. " You know that place that only you and I know where it is, and no one else knows because it's classified?" A few well-practiced clicks enlarge your features.

"I... think I follow..."

"Suspicious loitering and notes have happened!" Glasses glinting in the faint computer glow, Luciel's finger juts into the air, an eureka moment sprouts up a cheshire grin across his face. "Do you want me to check it out?" Any reason is a good reason to take out one of his loves and let her run freely. His knee bounces giddily, ready to book it with the all-clear.

"Did it look that serious? Maybe it was a sales person or advertisement-"

"Can never be too sure~, it could be a lead from the last attack." He lilts in a playful tone that fades to a serious flat, running your facial recognition diagnostics through a system, and hoping for quick a match and information. "Besides, I need a break."

"That's fine. then." The receiver betrays the man's sigh. "Just make sure you take the normal precautions, Luciel."

"Roger!" Without any delay, leaving the scans to do their work and a drawn out slurp of the rest of his soda, the flame-haired man shifts into his jacket and whistles. His nimble fingers work his phone into a pocket without bothering with the buttons or zips and he beelines for the heavy door.

He doesn't need the lights on. He knows the proper path like the backs of his hands. Scuffling through dirty laundry and food containers without injury takes grand skill and precision, and Luciel has had at least a decade of non-stop practice.

Even when his maid began her work on his bunker fortress of an abode, clearing away all his physical daily obstacles, that magnitude of dexterous greatness doesn't just simply disappear. No, no~!

It is ingrained into his very being, thanks.

The door is heavy, it echoes in clinks and clanks within itself when he lets it fall into its frame behind him. Giddy feet go as fast as they can without being classified a run while he darts up the broad stair and onto ground floor.

Which of his sleek babies should he love and dote upon today?

Hmm... Decisions, decisions.

He's a fair man; justice and equality for all cars! ... Oh, a-and people, he supposes... Heh.

"DEFENDER OF JUSTICE, SEVEN ZERO SEVEN-," He calls into the echoing garage as he sidles up to his cherry sweetheart, running his digits along her every curve, sticking them into her and curling to open her up, "-ready for action." Getting in, he fishes the keys from the center compartment with a little contented sigh at his lips at the feel of cool metal and unblemished plastic.


	6. Chapter 6

Mister Unknown looks as if he won't let you off that easy. His gaze burns as he inspects every inch of your face in the middle of this desolate mountain path. Fine lines arise 'round the corners of his eyes and between his brows. Almost as if mister Unknown disciple sir himself is in pain. Maybe he is, you both are roughly halfway up a damned mountain. The mountain was probably about a fourty minute DRIVE from where you passed out, and you doubt he took a car at any point while lugging your unconscious body around.

You don't really know, he could have... but even still it's a pretty tough feat.

His gauging stare is for you; only you at this very moment; measuring your facial ticks for any clues to solve the mystery of a single tear. Why is he thinking so hard about it? People cry for no reason all the time. Aches, laughing too hard, being happy, dry eyes, having to wake up in the morning to the same boring life day after day. The usual... Just... the dumbest of things.

"You won't have to carry this pain anymore." You almost didn't hear him, the sentiment was little more than a rasped breath. "The savior's presence will make you forget it all." The sage-eyed man takes a rough nasally inhale, lids shutting a little too hard for it to be just normal fatigue.

"Are you okay?" Unable to give him a real answer and the signs of his distress gnawing at you, you can't help but change the subject. He's, ...well, you came of your own accord, so you really can't say 'abductor,' can you? Intent, though. He's the one whisking you away to some mystery salve in the mountains, but you can't help but worry. You hate seeing others hurting.

"We... we need to hurry up." He's gritting his teeth now and the hold on you is wracked with tremors. All you have the heart to do is nod in earnest.

There is no way you want to be stuck outside in the woods come nightfall. He needs help and you are sure that where he's supposed to be taking you is probably the best place for it. So when he begins walking again, you do your very best to stay upright and keep pace.

Respiration labored at the unthinkable upward incline, you slip on pebbles and twigs as they roll beneath your soles, crunching together in ways that hurt your teeth to think about. They offer next to no grip, but still you press on.

Hours have probably passed by now. You don't really know, the concept of time is chipped away by the forest dim and your own fatigue. If you take a moment to seek out the sky among the tops of the trees, with your luck you'll probably trip up and somehow manage to careen straight back to the bottom. So, you don't chance it.

Your companion's brows have deepened; he's steadily become paler and paler as the minutes ticked on. A thin sheen of sweat coats you both, even in the cool air. It's apparent though, that "Unknown" is worse off.

Slips not withstanding, your legs have regained their natural oomph granting you full mobility once more; a freedom that is flipping wonderful.

He's glaring ahead now, bags blooming a deep blue beneath molten sage pools both focused and not. Fully aware and subconsciously tucked away elsewhere. Twitches and shakes wrack his body at a constant and you wonder, as you follow his scale up a steep slant, just what is wrong and how 'they' are going to help?

"I-is.. " Gasp. "Is something-" You exhale and gulp. Geez it's hard to talk. "-wrong?"

You see his back stiffen, tattooed shoulder seizing a bit, but he keeps going, not even gracing you with a noncommittal grunt.

"Hey!" You've never been one to like being ignored. It ticks you off to no end. In hindsight, probably one of the reasons that when you didn't keep in contact with people, they didn't try either. You frown a bit at the thought, careful to tuck that little sting deep inside and correct yourself immediately after.

"Hey! I-" Your lungs are revolting against your wishes, you gasp in a taste of oxygen before wheezing out the rest of your sentiment, hoping he hears you, "just want to know if you're okay!" You've got nothing more than an exaggerated breath, but over exert it, "You could at least give me a yes or no." Voices aren't supposed to sound like that, though you couldn't care less at the moment.

"Your IDIOCY is... enough to PHYSICALLY... HURT!" The man growls viciously in pants, startling you to a halt. "How can you just..." Voice cracking, dripping in watery anger, he grips at his own white-red hair falling to a sit amongst the dirt and tree debris.

You're way too confused to comment. Where was the smooth-talking prince of cultist divinity? Why does he look so... tortured? You open and close your mouth, but nothing comes out.

His fists grip and release the strands at his scalp, his body curls in on itself making him look like a child crying, lost in the forest. The tremors attack his frame, harder, quicker...

Is he... laughing?

"It hurts! Haha!" Face a grimace, that open-mouthed smile makes your stomach plummet when you hear the choked and twised chortles fall from his lips as if he was coughing up blood. "IT HURTS!" He snorts, and it's far from something cute, more like a gag than anything. "The Savior tests my FAITH! I believe your words my Savior!~" He seems to scream and sing sentiment into the dense trees beyond.

You don't know what to do. Utterly stumped, you both reach for and restrain your hands from movement. A tug-of-war, you find your palms itching to placate but the sheer shock stills them. The haunting giggles and yells of this man subside into flimsy, throaty clicks and squeaks.

You gather yourself, toeing the ground closer and closer.

"H-hey-" you try to keep your voice from stammering, taking on something akin to a tender coo, attempting not to agitate 'Unknown' any further than he already is.

"Why?" It's a biting and broken whisper but nothing more than that. His tips are still embedded in the short tangles of his locks and his gaze is hot on his own knees.

"I don't understand..." That's a bit of an understatement.

"Why would you come?" He's straining himself just to keep talking. You can see the clenching of his jaw and the red flushing across his exposed skin. "WHY? Are you a coward? A hypocrite? Are YOU A LIAR TOO?!" He's so close to hyperventilating by the time he stops, giving you the chance to dash in with something, anything to quell his freak out.

"You said you could take away the pain..." He grunts and you take it as an okay to continue.

"You said I could be saved." You're tearing up. Why the hell are YOU tearing up? "I came because I have nothing to lose."

"I came because even if you decided that I'm not worth taking to 'Paradise' that you would get rid of me because, for some dumb reason, I don't feel I have the right to do it myself." He nearly stops breathing, hands falling to the dust settled around his crumpled frame. "And, you interest me. I want to know more."

He peeks up, and lord, the agony etched into his face is enough to make you nauseous. You gulp it down; the anxious writhing in the pit of your stomach, the knot in your throat, the blasted water blurring your sight. A moment passes, too quiet for word and just silent enough for some much needed introspection.

"I just wanted to know if you were okay and if there's anything I can do?" You break that silence, the mumble just enough to be heard.

He scoffs, a barely managed humorless grin amongst a moue of affliction. "No."

Seems as if the answer is one-size-fits-all and placidly, you leave it as is. A sigh escapes. You are strangers, there's not much to expect here. He's already pushing from the crunching leaves and rocks, ready to keep going and unwilling to say any more.

Your nerves thank his generous silence.

Your brain can't help but to replay the scene over and over again, thinking of things you could have said and what you shouldn't have but ultimately... you are just hoping to speak with him more.


	7. Chapter 7

Dabbing away the cold sweat gathered at his hairline, Luciel waits as the lift reaches its destination floor. His heel won't stop tapping to the brassy tunes playing overhead.

It's weird being in this building again... The last time he came, it involved installing some pretty hefty security and meeting with her. He can't feel her presence any more. This building feels more like a dangerous cage than an apartment building.

Her hope and her glow is gone from this place for good. It's cold here. Empty. Seriously, where are all the other occupants?

The floors pass in an auditory blur of bloops and the whir of cables and pulleys. The redhead has to will his leg to stop bouncing, his nerves peak as he gets closer and closer. A mix of apprehension and nostalgia and excitement swirling around in his chest. The concoction is heavy. It feels so wrong.

His skin crawls, goose flesh raising along his arms the longer he stays in this small upward-moving box of jazz and brushed metal and polished wood paneling and potential death.

He can't help but jump out as the doors barely slide open and doubled over, he eagerly gulps in the artificial spring-fresh air as if each pull was his last breath.

"Haaaaahhh~." Not much better out here, really. But, Luciel is on a super important mission! He steels himself, fixing his posture and marches on like the good little soldier he is.

Tap, tap.

Closer.

Tap, tap.

Closer still.

Tap, tap. Tap, tap. Tap, tap.

This damn hall is ridiculously long, and cavernous. And empty,.. big surprise, right? How could she live someplace like this? Had it always felt this lonely and grade-A hospital-in-the-middle-of-the-night type of creepy? His shoulders jerk as he shudders, but he finally reaches the door.

Still locked up tight. Check.

Visible signs of distress... Nope. Check.

"Let's see the log to make sure~... " Pulling a cable from his pocket and hooking one end to the keypad mechanism and one to his SEVEN-grade super-phone, he gets to work, letting the program bring up a start prompt.

Amber eyes watch the sequences flash and fill his screen, looking for breaks in consistency. And, as he waits he pops a squat on the chilly, waxed floor. Legs crossed, a slight lean in his spine and a thumbnail stationed between straight teeth... The codes are all in tact. No traces of foul play.

Nothing.

...Nothing but the edge of a slip of paper he sees on the floor beside him almost completely masked by the door.

"Hmm~" releasing the hold on his captive thumb, his hand reaches for the mystery parchment from the suspicious loiterer. Each finger pulling and stretching in succession from the last, Luciel coaxes the crudely ripped little thing from its spot.

"Ooh~!" A small smirk graces his features the further he reads. "How sweet of them! Leaving me all these details!"

He feels like he just won a lifetime supply of Phd. Pepper! But still, its not enough.

Nothing is ever enough. That's why hackers exist. They dig, they scrounge, they create and they fight and they hide.

They also play. And this seems like an interesting game.

Anyone else up for Find the source of the would-be break in? Because this redhead is all in.


	8. Chapter 8

No way. No freaking way...

How is there a flipping mansion on a mountain in the middle of the forest?!

You're still in awe, standing dumbstruck in the middle of the clearing. But you doubt anyone would fault you. This thing is absolutely massive, and so very clean. How? How is that kind of maintenance possible? How-

"Please, don't stop." The pained disciple rubs at his eyes and temples sloppily, turning halfway toward you from his lead. He'd been squinting a terrible lot every time he'd update you on the last leg of your journey. What color he still had left diminished further as the time passed and you are quite positive he might just keel over or start vomiting, or both if you don't snap yourself out of it. You scurry to catch up on stiff, screaming legs and feet.

It hurts, but you are certain you are at least a hundred times better off than Mister Unknown.

The songs of early evening creatures surround you both as you approach the humongous dwelling. A worn dirt path pads your way as you watch the muscles twinge along the disciple's shoulders and back. Your pace quickens despite the heaviness in your chest. This doesn't seem right. But, you knew this from the very start.

It doesn't matter. You stick with your decisions, even if they are the wrong ones. Bullheaded, they called it? How else is one supposed to learn?

You shake the off the wayward thoughts. He's waiting for you at the door, holding it open like a gentleman or even a butcher leading cows to slaughter. Shrugging, you jog and immediately regret it but you are there and so you enter.

It looks so sanitary and bright and huge, you suddenly feel under-dressed and quite a bit embarrassed by the sweat stains marring your already filthy clothes. The door closes behind you both under its own weight, louder than you were expecting. Your nerves are shot and you jump, a squeal dying in your throat.

Not long after, the sound of shuffling footsteps echo through the halls. They sound numerous and you aren't sure exactly which direction they are coming from or even if they are coming from a single direction.

While you busy your senses with the taps that surround you and the dome and halls in your toward, the sage-eyed man takes a knee.

Vaulted ceilings make his ragged breath resound in ways that raise your heart rate in worry, but before you can even react and go to his side, a mob of men and women with stoic expressions and tightly drawn lips stop before him.

"Disciple! The savior has worried at your leave. Explain yourself!" One man at the very front speaks sharply through clenched teeth, anger evident in every syllable. The crowd around him nod, but offer no words of their own; content to allow this tan-skinned tower chastise to his own discretion.

Unknown manages to lift his head, bagged and tired orbs peeking through his white and fire-tinged fringe. He opens his mouth but nothing aside from a labored rasp escapes him before he finally collapses on the flat white tiles below.

"Please help him..." You speak out of turn, surprising even yourself. It is naught but a whisper, but it carries. All eyes turn to you and you feel each gaze as if they were hot pokers gouging into you from all directions.

Your own gaze wanders, unable to withstand the pressure of eye contact. Your comrade's form is like a splash of black ink on a clean sheet of paper. Beautiful but tragic. How did he himself manage to be 'brought to paradise?' You wonder this to yourself as a confusing buzz of fluid voices take over this overly-acoustic space of grandeur.

Your own fatigue wins out and you fall. At this point, the sharp crack of your skull on the hard floor and the welling of your sore limbs sprawling on the cold floor in uncomfortable directions is less important than the relief you feel upon closing your eyes and succumbing to unconsciousness. Away from the stares and the unfamiliar voices. An untimely but welcome rest from your hectic day.

Briefly, very briefly, before the darkness settles in your mind, you hear the inflection of question and a gruff affirmation of some sort. Something slips into your mouth and you swallow the liquid reflexively. The taste... you can't even focus on it but you know it isn't water; it bites its way down your gullet and you're sputtering in compulsory.

Finally, the world blurs and blackness grabs at you like a lost possession. You let it take you without word. Without a shred of fight.


	9. Chapter 9

**A/N:** _This story will be starting to get much darker from here on in. Included but not limited to: drug use/addiction symptoms, mentioned child abuse, mentioned rape of a minor, self-harm mention, physical abuse, mental abuse, implied brain washing and unhealthy thought processes._  
 _Please, if any of these things are a sore topic for you, do not read any further._

So cold.

So dark.

You awaken to the soft yet direct words of someone in the distance, but your physicality is bombarded rudely with these sensations. You attempt to sit up, but your extremities are too heavy to lift and your mind is in a constant pulsating spin. So, you lay allowing the frigidity to seep into your wet flesh. A rough rag sops and slaps against your side, rubbing at you harshly; hands you hadn't noticed before are pinning you.

You are far too naked and far too confused for any of this.

Words betray you, you can't speak past a few grunts and drawn, gritty groans. Your tongue will not work and you are left to endure.

Completely helpless.

"I see you are awake." The voice is so lovely, if only it didn't have an icy aloofness to it. Your eyes dart to the direction of its source. So blurry is the outline, but you can make out the veil of cascading golden locks and vivid emerald staring down at you.

You try to nod.

You can't.

"Worry not, dear. My disciple has made the best choice in inviting you to the Eden of Earth. He is but a shepherd helping me to herd lost lambs such as yourself. But first..." You gasp as her soft and chilly fingertips barely ghost across your brow, swiping away loose strands of your dampened hair. "You must be sheared, the world's influence and despair must be shed and cleansed from both your body and soul for you to fully feel and appreciate what our Magenta and the watcher of Mint Eye have to offer."

Too many hands. There are too many feely digits touching you and rubbing you and holding you like a vice. Too many eyes are upon your form in its rawest sense, looking at you.

They are looking through you.

You are too exposed.

You are too vulnerable.

And,... you are helpless.

It's so hard to breathe. It's hard to think. Your heart feels as if it's racing in a backwards pump. You are certain the beat is so hard that it is making your chest jump.

You feel it in your throat, almost as if your own pulse has turned against you and it is choking the very life it gives from you. Your very being down to your veins are tingling. Are you- is this-? Is this what it is like to die?

Here in a crumpled heap, shamed and nude and observed... Is this all your existence will ever amount to be?

You are but a smear of self loathing that even you want to snuff out. You are both the sickly flickering flame and the wet fingers ready to pinch.

"All you need to do is accept, little one. You need to let out all of that pain. All of that sadness. Depend on me to carry that weight. Let me show you first hand what the world in which you have previously lived is, in a first hand sense. Allow me show you what you will feel should you leave without your Savior's blessing." Her smile is serene and her voice a downy coo as she pets your head in a soothing stroke; easing your breaths, settling the rambunctious pumps within your breast.

"I will give you the direction you seek. I will give you purpose. I will grant you pleasures and luxury without judgement as long as you devote your dependency on me."

Her words curl around you, promising a warmth that you haven't ever known. You want to believe her, but it sounds too good even in your fogged and unclear state. Like lies wrapped in silk, caressing you at your very soul; she says all the things you want to hear. Your eyes fall to the man on bent knee at her side. His head is groundward but the complicated sage gaze is trained on you and you alone, haunted by a stygian haze.

Something chalky is pressed past your lips and you can't even push it out with your knotted and tied tongue. You just... you allow it to happen, giving your acceptance to the Savior huddled charmingly above you in her white robes, an ethereal sight; succumbing to her sweet words and whispered promises.

The tab dissolves, absorbed by the meager moisture in your maw. Chunks of the remainders click at your teeth and you break them with the little strength left in your jaws.

It only takes a few moments for you to feel light. To feel the wonders of whatever was given to you to dance along your nerves in an electric tango of ecstasy. A welling of good rolling through your body like calm waves lapping at a peaceful shoreline.

The stone walls you hadn't known before increase in vividness, and soften in turn. No longer porous and hard, they lose even the grey that defines them.

There are so many more colors in this room that you hadn't noticed before. A kaleidoscope of blur and beauty that sink into you and spread out into the vast unknowns. You are everywhere and nowhere. Completely stationary and perpetually in motion. You can't hear much aside from the buzzing and the music of this dimension is too loud in its silence for you to concentrate.

"-begin-" you think you hear that word at least once.

Oh! It's mister Unknown disciple guy! He has joined you in this glorious bubble of which it is just you and he. You attempt to nuzzle against whatever part of him you can manage with your lethargic body. Enjoying the feel of his sturdiness, feeling secure in this wash of heat. There's a tightness around you that goes even tighter still at your motion.

Where did all the hands go? Did they just disappear? Magic! You would gasp if you could, but you can't and so, you just float along, so warm now.

So nice... so close to the white and red haired hottie.

This is fine. You can feel your limbs flopping about. You're like a ragdoll and that is so funny that you can't even laugh! You don't feel yourself breathing though? Did... Did you surpass your own mortal being to become that which doesn't even need to breathe?!

You are jumbled, a pass of delicious tingles line the curve of your cheek and a rugged hiss of air at your ear that are probably meant to be words send delight dripping down your spine, but you can't discern their sentiment.

And then, suddenly there is nothing.

Hey? Where did the warmth go? Why do your wrists and ankles itch?

Why is it so cold? You hate the cold.

You've always been cold. You're so tired of the cold.


	10. Chapter 10

No one ever said intelligence work was easy. That would be a big fat lie and anyone whom actually knows anything would inherently agree.

It takes brain!

It takes brawn!

It sometimes takes huge physical efforts that are proving to be a gigantic issue for the red-headed hacker, esq. Yeah, he's had training and conditioning to make his work a little easier. But maintaining it...

Ehhhhh~... heheheh...

"Tch." Luciel clicks his tongue. Sweat beads at his brow as the rigging digs at all his special places in not-so-special ways.

It's not a long distance by any means. But, in order to reach the object of his desire he'd had to stop the elevator on the second floor and run down to the first to pry open the doors and ease himself down; A constant stream of thoughts raging through his godlike mind that if anyone were to use the contraption to venture to the lobby, he'd maybe be crushed and no one would be the wiser.

Except V.

Probably.

Instead of a normal jump and slide rappel, he has to maintain a good enough grip in order to pull himself up if said ill-advised scenario were to occur. He hasn't the confidence to say for sure if he'd escape his gruesome pancake fate, but precautions are precautions. Better to think you could possibly be safe than sorry~!

Th-that's how the saying goes, right?

He grunts into the last few steps, shadows skew his vision, but he sees his target amongst the many fail-safe hydraulic mechanisms and grabs at the glinting glass and plastic thing.

"Phew~" Thumbing the power button thoughtfully, it blinks to life lighting up the prismatic shaft. Forty two percent battery life left, no cracks to the screen... Good. Into a free pocket it goes!

"Alright, let's do this!~" As a way to pump himself up, he roars in a hush tone. Gripping the rope with a perspiration and work-wet palm he kicks at the metal wall with the sole of his sneakers. They squeak and he grunts while he pulls with tired arms to get back up to the light and the extant safety it offers.

"Olly, olly oxen free~" The stupid saying rolls right off his tongue in ragged gasps as he rolls to a pathetic and flat lay on the perfectly polished floor.

"This is gonna leave some smudges." he chuckles tiredly to himself as he straightens his glasses. "If I have a choice, I'm never doing that again."

Trying and failing to roll over and continue his work a couple of times, he still lays, panting into the ceiling of the empty lobby.

He'll pull up and roll the rope in a minute. But right now, his whole body is revolting against him, demanding a moment of reprieve.

He obliges, content knowing that the phone of the owner of the note is safely tucked into his jacket. He's free to analyze everything to his curious heart's desire.

Though, one thing that bothers Luciel is- well one of two things that is bothering him... One: he needs to remove the rope that has his junk in a choke-hold and two: why was the phone all the way down there to begin with?

Just an unlucky accident, or... is it connected to the person who led them there?


	11. Chapter 11

"Mnn..." The groan you let out echoes all around you, bouncing off the stone walls and going unanswered by all but the pounding in your brain. Each pulse beats like white-hot flames and boiling oil from the top of your cranium to the small of your back. It's all you can do just to sit, curled in on yourself in a puddle of your own filth.

When you first came to, you called and called hoping that someone, anyone would allow you at least this dignity. The hurt had welled, the urgency doubling... tripling until no longer could you hold it anymore.

Trickling down your thighs, scalding you in unspeakable embarrassment that settled and grew around you like a lake of pure disgust. Too afraid of your accident to move, too ashamed to speak any more; you did the only thing your worn body could do.

You cried.

You cried so silently and so hard that tears ceased to fall. The shame burning in your face never did recede until those grim-faced followers came. Spraying your disgrace away with a hose from both the floor and your body in cold, wet blasts.

You didn't meet their eyes.

You couldn't.

So you stay, in the same place of your messes. You don't want to be more of a burden. Why force them to clean the whole cell because you decided to move? You can't risk making them angry.

They clean you. They make you feel better with their medicine. They provide those nice coos and words of the Eden of Magenta to come.

"Mnnhhhh..." A fresh shock stirs your synapses in the worst of ways. The grimace upon your features pulls at the flesh of your scalp and temples making the throbbing that much worse.

Your chafed wrists and limp hands cradle your head in a vain attempt to soothe the sharp stabs of pain while your clammy forehead rests on your bound and bent legs.

There is no concept of time where you can't see the sky.

Caged in by iron, entombed within mortar and rock... How long has it been? How did you get here? You have too many questions and hurt too much to think too deeply on any of them.

All you can do is sit... All you can do is wait.

You hate waiting. You are impatient.

They'll be here again. They'll give you the nasty but magical pills that will take the pain away and they will speak to you.

"Th-th-th-this p-p-p-pain," you try to gulp, to still your trembling and cracked lips but your tongue sticks and prickles along the roof of your mouth and the skin at your maw catches, tearing another crack in its surfaces, "i-issss p-p-punishm-m-ment." Finally, you manage to parrot a sentence brokenly.

'The pain is punishment, which is representation of life beyond Magenta. The watcher of Mint Eye sees your punishment. The Savior accepts your repentance and soon shall grant you entrance to paradise. Take now what is offered to you, lost lamb, poor wretch of Earthen heathens. Have but a taste of the Eden that awaits.'

You smile to yourself an aching curve against the hard caps of your knees. The fresh scabs along your pained simper pop open once more, blood bubbles to the surface and smears streaks of sanguine plasma like a careless swipe of lipstick.

A choked sob clots in your throat, dry and burning. Why aren't they here yet? Did they forget you? Are you not worthy of their time, of their paradise? You have never been allowed much, but can't this at least be one?

Harshly, your respiration puffs out of your nostrils much like a raging bull. The tears still won't come, your eyes ignite in their reddened and dehydrated state . You just want this to end!

This is enough right? You've served your entire life repenting! You've known you were a sin from your very first conscious thought. You've had your mistakes paraded about on show for everyone in your own family to see and to criticize. You are and have never been anything great without the direction of someone.

Why do you have to sit here like a puppy mill pet, in a cage soaking in your own urine and shit?! Why do you have to bare your twisted, warped form to these people?!

Why?

WHY?!

'Your doubts and reservations will only hold you back from reaching your own potential, little one. Listen to the words of reason within your soul. Those words that fill you with warmth, with faith. Those are the ones that will guide you to the right path. A beautiful and peaceful path...'

The listless hands at your head go even weaker still, allowing the Savior's sentiment to pacify your mind as you shut out the agony resonating in your extremities.

That's right.

Even if you have your doubts...

You chose this.


	12. Chapter 12

It's been three days.

Three days.

He's been huddled in this chair chewing at his thumb and searching for a new target; chasing potential leads and marking their movements down to the last mundane detail. He's so worn by the monotony of these uninteresting heathens. The disciple heaves a deep sigh, letting his shoulders loosen.

He hasn't visited his adherent since the purification began. He wants to, but being down there makes his head pound. Like he's forgetting something and that memory wants nothing more than to stay buried. 'Unknown' has no intention to dig into his past more than is necessary to achieve vengeance on the one who abandoned him.

The one that hurt him the most.

More even than that blasted drunkard woman of a mother, whose screeching voice unnerves the disciple to his core still beyond the grave. The marks on his body from that wench may have faded over time but Luciel's betrayal plagues every memory, his every action, even every damn reflective surface...

He can't get away. He can't escape this like his brother so flippantly chose to. Unknown can only deal with it. Only with Luciel's death will the pain of being forsaken by the only one he had hope in, ease. Only then can he give himself the same end.

With another sigh, he rubs at his tired eyes willing them to focus on the screens to his front. That devil filth has restructured and strengthened the security surrounding the fraud association and it is eating at his very soul to look at the firewall that his traitorous kin created with his own hands.

Even now, he's still running so far away.

Seems old habits die hard.

Sage orbs scowl and a scoff of derision pushes through clenched teeth. He's not going to get anything done at this rate.

His eyes feel raw and scratchy. Just keeping them open is a chore, but this much is normal. Sitting on his sleek white desk a half-empty spout bottle tempts his parched throat... He doesn't want to drink it.

He wants it. Craves it, even... though, that fact alone is the sole reason he doesn't touch it more than a sip every time the headaches begin to well.

Remembering the way you reacted to the concentrated concoction keeps him grounded enough to ignore the temptation.

He's torn, really.

The taste of Magenta's Eden or lucidity and the clarity to see the effects of it all on someone so unused to the medicine; a choice he never considered before. He is curious.

You had whined in his hold, pulling even closer in his arms even though you had no strength to do so. Your small shaking form, the ragged breaths, the clouded look you gave him as he tied you up and left you to the Savior's will; he could feel your unfocused gaze on him up until he exited that dark, dank place.

"Listen and be calm. Soon this will all be over and I'll see you then." He'd whispered to you quickly before taking his leave.

He was told before to wait for the purification to end to come visit. The Savior had blessed his hand, holding it to her rounded, downy cheek as she spoke of you, the new angel in their midst. She had been so pleased, so eager to have you be a surprise for him once you were ready. Even if his actions had been born of impatience. Knowing of his work, she had asked him to continue with his plans.

She'd asked him to succeed.

He has no ill will toward his beloved Savior, but his patience has worn to paper thin once more and the anxious need to check on his charge is overwhelming. He can't grant her wish in this state and that further grinds his irk.

Your easy acceptance, the dulled pain he saw in your every feature... the shockingly false mask of peace you wore even as your body shook from fear you emitted so thick that he could almost taste it... He can't forget it, can't set aside these stray thoughts of you.

It felt familiar.

Uncomfortably familiar.

He needs to see you, to verify your being and the progress you are making. You are his responsibility and since you spent more personal time with him than any other here, he wants to give you what little comfort his presence can manage. He feels that is at least part of his duties for you and the Savior alike.

Unknown's brows furrow, a breath he wasn't even aware he'd been holding escapes him.

He needs to let you know that he hasn't abandoned you. The disciple is not his brother. He is better than that red-headed, selfish fool.

Reluctantly, he grabs the bottle roughly and shoves out of the chair as it creaks from the transfer of weight.

His bare feet pad swiftly, quietly along the curling corridors. So quickly, he doesn't have the chance to mull too deeply about his Savior's words or her wishes for him to keep away.

You followed him here. He's kept you the entire way here. Three days of part should be more than enough time.


	13. Chapter 13

_**A/N:**_ __ _Trigger warnings for this chapter include past rape of minor, mental abuse, physical abuse, drug use, being drugged, drug withdrawal, self harm, unhealthy thought process, as well as captivity, religious cult, and brainwashing._

 _It was hard for me to write and read all of this because I remember everything this stuff was based off of. I tried to tone it down quite a bit while editing... But, just in case, there are the trigger warning for you._

"You must be sheared, the world's influence and despair must be shed and cleansed from both your body and soul for you to fully feel and appreciate what our Magenta and the watcher of Mint Eye have to offer."

Your body is nothing more than a pathetic lump of ache and burning and chill. You can't tell if you are shivering because you're cold, due to the pulsing pain that brands itself so deep past even skin and muscle brings with it a violent jerk of its own; each one sparks at your every nerve's end ignited by every insignificant motion.

"I will give you the direction you seek. I will give you purpose. I will grant you pleasures and luxury without judgement as long as you devote your dependency on me."

They haven't come back since the very last mess you made. You can't tell how long ago that was but in their place, the Savior's sweet voice plays on loop somewhere from overhead. It rings out and rains down and drowns your screaming synapses with her lovely tune, making you feel both better and infinitely worse. The pounding at your skull won't stop, even the frigid stone floor at your cheek and temple does nothing to ease it.

"The pain is punishment, which is representation of life beyond Magenta. The watcher of Mint Eye sees your punishment. The Savior accepts your repentance and soon shall grant you entrance to paradise. Take now what is offered to you, lost lamb, poor wretch of Earthen heathens. Have but a taste of the Eden that awaits."

Are her teachings being played from a speaker, or are you just remembering them all from her previous visits? You can't tell reality from the daydreams of your over-stimulated mind. You can't process much more than the agony the world has left you with and your need to endure it.

To shed it.

"Your doubts and reservations will only hold you back from reaching your own potential, little one. Listen to the words of reason within your soul. Those words that fill you with warmth, with faith. Those are the ones that will guide you to the right path. A beautiful and peaceful path..."

Your stomach clenches with each growl that digs into you, sharp pangs like invisible claws ripping into your middle repugnantly. You are hollow, it resounds in your core and you can do nothing but attempt to curl tighter into yourself, your spine creaking in stiffness and twinges. The twine wrapped around your extremities splinter more, digging and ripping deeper into the raw and sticky flesh beneath both sets of bindings.

"Once you experience this despair, the feel of your own torment crushing you; then and only then can you trust it all to me. Allow your Savior to harbor it all. Allow your Savior the right to give you the peace you crave and the punishments you deserve in order to become a pure child of Magenta. Observed by our Watcher of Mint Eye. Cleanse yourself and let me cleanse you."

You haven't even opened your eyes since you last fell unconscious. You aren't even sure you can. They feel gritty beneath your lids, the thin surface so fragile it might even stick and rip if you were to attempt a peek at your surroundings.

"The loneliness you feel is the result of the heathen life you've left behind. Once your trial has finished, you will never bear this pain again under a peaceful life within Eden, little one. You will live in happiness with your family of new brothers and sisters, similarly saved from the worldly bowels of Hell. You all will walk this blessed path, guided by your Savior. "

Beneath you, the rough surface is unforgiving on the bruises and sores you've developed. Every single inch of you is at the mercy of this trial; your own mentality escapes your own control, taking breaks in the torment to slip into the recesses of your mind, reflecting on the things you've buried for most of your life.

This is what you've become; a being of torment and memory. It is all you can do... feel and remember and listen.

Your beautiful Savior's voice fades out into a whispered warbling cacophony of white noise... you can still hear yet, you are tucked away in the furthest recesses, tied differently. Smooth leather belts wrap around your entire torso, arms completly immobile. Deafened in this recollection, but you know well what is about to happen.

No... no... no... please...

Not again...

You can't smell but the phantom aroma of alcohol and cooking oil burns your nostrils and invades your taste buds making you gag. You can't move, can't get away from this man that you and your loved ones trusted.

You can't scream as your paternal uncle stuffs dirty clothes into your tiny toddler mouth and duct-tapes it to keep it put. He doesn't want to hear you, but his stare heats with your struggle. It catches in your hair, yanking at your tender scalp at every minute change in expression.

You turn your face away, letting the tape rip errant strands. You try to ignore what is happening; to pretend someone you adored and idolized so much isn't doing this to you. Is this a game? It is just a game, right? Otherwise, why does he want to hurt you?

Did you make him mad?

Did you do something wrong?

Did they?

You can't pretend though. Your cousins are tied up just like you. There is so much red. You used to like that color. It was your favorite... But surrounding their usually happy faces twisted in black and blue silent screams atop their limp forms,... it is the worst.

Your tiny body can't take what this large, disgusting man is doing to you. His fingers dig into your back and hips so hard it feels like he's crushing your bones.

The pressure is way too much.

It's wrong.

Your natural defenses give. He's too strong for you and you rip under his forceful touch; prodding, pushing. You scream backwards, it's the only way you can breathe. You are dizzy and nauseous... the bile shoots up your throat and out of your burning nose as you cough and gag and wheeze, frozen stiff with the paralyzing pain. Your tears roll down chubby cheeks, innocent even as the innocence is being snatched away too forcefully for a child to bear.

You smile extra widely when your parents pick you up the next week, your cousins pleaded for you not to tell. Nothing is wrong. You convince yourself, too well.

You won't break their trust.

You don't tell. You never tell, because it would make them sad. And when he gets into a car accident years later, you hug them both with a watery simper on your face to show them your support.

You'll never see them again.

The vision bleeds seamlessly into the next. Ugly colors swirling, bringing forth the silent company of your mother. Her skin is a familiar yellow, those hazel eyes roll dully, looking for something, anything to take interest in. "I wasn't meant to live, you know?" She doesn't verbally say it here, but the lip movements and your own experience relay the message clearly. "One day, I'll be gone and you'll forget about me. I'll forget about you. But, I'm sure we'll both be much better off."

You cry. Your mother doesn't take notice, or... She doesn't care. She's always said that tears are just empty shows of sympathy. That you shouldn't pity her life or her death. This is just what was supposed to be. You smile for her, hoping she'll be happy with that little gesture.

Only exasperated sighs answer you.

She wasn't supposed to get pregnant and have you, but it happened she told you one night before bed. Now, you'll just have to grow up knowing that people aren't forever. She wants you to know the truth from the very start. That love and pity and care aren't forever. Everything in this world is so dangerous, from the steps you take to school each morning to the people you meet and the appliances that are used to cook the food you eat. Everything could bring a nasty end. Everything but the things she's tried.

Her dry laughs make your heart ache. You won't cry anymore, though. You are stronger; her truths have toughened you at least that much.

It almost looks like she's proud.

Flashes like strobe bring the clouded look on her face as she cuts into her own flesh just to watch the blood flow as you do your home work. Other days you somewhat cherish how short but curled the rancid smoke was when she blew it out, with chapped frost coating the only grins she'd give.

You see the look of death on her face, surrounded by sterile white cotton and astringent antiseptic smell of the hospital room. It was the very last time you saw her and still she looked so bored.

She blurs into the fold, crackles of fetid snowflake fireworks of the mind's eye.

A teenager and in love. Beautiful physique and an adorable accent, a boy catches your eye. So sweet, he meets all your needs. He listens, he provides you with warmth and comfort. There are some things you just never feel worthy enough for.

And, you are right.

He's hitting you again with the same hands that usually pet through your hair during long movies. With the very ones that hold yours whenever you go out; that busy themselves holding doors open for you and rubs your back just because. He's always so caring; so gentle...

But you dared to ask him something stupid like why he had another person's nude photographs and used condoms all over his room when you visited. He's a normal teenager, with normal needs. He's not the monster you are making him out to be.

You couldn't just be content with that warmth. You had to get greedy. You knew you didn't deserve any more than that. You knew, so why did you push it?

He was a foster child and you felt bad for his unfortunate and abused life. He's had it so rough... So, how dare you? How could you make him feel like he's anything like his own biological parents? He doesn't want to see you in pain like this. He doesn't want to have to show you how wrong you are like this. He strokes your cheek while the other clenches around your neck, and then he slaps you; a solid connection that rings in both ears.

Why would you try hurt him? Why would you force his gentle hands to do something so filthy?

He's never had a forever home and all you wanted was to care for him. You wanted to help him; wanted to be his stability and didn't want him to suffer any more than he already has. You fail him. So, you forgive the injuries with a comforting smile when he asks it of you. His blue eyes are so bright when they're ringed in red from his own crying. He didn't have to apologize.

It's your fault. You shouldn't have accused him or pried. He needs all the comfort he can get, you know this.

Time goes by in streaks, those hands are replaced with laughter incarnate. Oddball comedy between classes; practical jokes and trashcan bowling. Lungs filled with THC and the munchies rule your mornings.

Sloppy, heated kisses and passing intricately folded notes with crude drawings that make you snort during your studies make you feel as if you're on cloud nine. There's not a moment that goes by in boring silence.

That is, until he finally begins to trust you. You aren't good with trust. No one should trust you. You only ever disappoint... but you never learn, do you?

Physically and sexually abused by his own father, his sisters molested on a daily basis. Poor guy has even witnessed his mother being stabbed. He's sewn her up with his own inexperienced hands; has seen more and had it worse than you... not that you'd ever compare.

Soon you see how harsh his humor truly is. He deflects, but shows you the real him. You are the only one that knows his secrets. You are the only one he can trust with this. The words echo, your own feeble voice asking him to leave that house, that man.

You beg for his family to find a better life. You'll help. You can't stand knowing that they are living with so much cruelty; can't stand that they are hurting in a way you can only just understand.

You work every part-time job you can. You sleep in your car. You buy a house to live in with them, to help them escape, but they don't pay, can't pay and you are left with debt. Phone calls scare you, creditors hound you. You didn't plan this well enough, and now you've dug a hole for yourself, dragging everyone down with you.

You're too selfish.

It's a never-ending spiral of fear and guilt. They call your work, you can't even get away while you try to make money to pay them.

He can't believe that you'd leave them with a portion of bills. You've over-exerted your bank account to pay for everything you could every month... It isn't enough. You have failed and you respect that he tells you just that, so clearly.

You appreciate his unadulterated honesty.

If only you were a better employee, granted with overtime opportunities and medical benefits. If only you weren't so lazy. If only you were smarter and more experienced and able to go for better than entry-level.

Your misgivings are his driving factor.

He cheats on you with what used to be your best friend; the person whom is better than you in every way.

You deserve it. The promises made, you couldn't keep. You aren't attentive enough to his needs. You can't even bring any food to the table. You can't provide anything.

Who would ever want you besides himself?

He tears through what mutual friendships you have, exposing them to how much you hurt him. You couldn't help him.

You are not adequate. Would never be.

They agree. Rightly so.

Working to prove yourself to him; to keep him, to love him. You sleep only on breaks and between shifts. Never-ending shifts.

So selfish.

Finally he's had enough and leaves you when your grandparents die, at the funeral. You are too weak to think about him, he can't stand that you are so pathetic. You aren't worth his time and he has things to do. He has to make money for all the debt you've allowed to stay on his plate.

You are left so lost with no support. You aren't worth supporting. You can't trust anyone. Everyone expects, but you can never deliver... You don't have the luxury of choice between trust and not trusting. You are terrified of everyone; their words, the way they look at you. But, you smile through it all... You can't burden them any more than you already do with your negativity.

You go back to work, saving to escape.

Escape.

Escape...

Escape?

The comforting voice of the Savior is back, easing your mind even as it pounds with her words. Your tear-ducts burn, but they do not produce tears.

You hate that you have to re-live all these pains... But in the Eden of Magenta the ethereal blonde speaks of, you will no longer need this... will no longer feel this dead and guilty and soiled inside. So for now, you allow your mind to reflect. All these thing show you exactly who you are and that is the point of this process.

To confront.

Overcome.

To let it go and hand all your fears and worries over to the one woman who wants to carry your burdens. The Savior demands it.

"You must be sheared, the world's influence and despair must be shed and cleansed from both your body and soul for you to fully feel and appreciate what our Magenta and the watcher of Mint Eye have to offer."

You won't have to pine for words of your deceased relatives to tell you how to do things right and to confirm how useless you feel. Constantly, you will have reason. There will be no more room for darkness beneath her radiant guidance.

"I will give you the direction you seek. I will give you purpose. I will grant you pleasures and luxury without judgement as long as you devote your dependency on me."

Never will you seek the solace of pathetic razors or burning metal in order to feel more than just numb. You needed this pain; a hurt so deep it permeates the soul and brings to light the dark secrets that you have to face, little by little.

"The pain is punishment, which is representation of life beyond Magenta. The watcher of Mint Eye sees your punishment. The Savior accepts your repentance and soon shall grant you entrance to paradise. Take now what is offered to you, lost lamb, poor wretch of Earthen heathens. Have but a taste of the Eden that awaits."

You've been running away from yourself so long. Being forced to encounter this is... cleansing. Even as your breaths come in short pants and wheezing gasps; as your heart races uncomfortably hard and fast or palpitating in long pause. You are a coward ready to face the shadows that follow.

"Your doubts and reservations will only hold you back from reaching your own potential, little one. Listen to the words of reason within your soul. Those words that fill you with warmth, with faith. Those are the ones that will guide you to the right path. A beautiful and peaceful path..."

Even tighter still, you ball up.

"Once you experience this despair, the feel of your own torment crushing you; then and only then can you trust it all to me. Allow your Savior to harbor it all. Allow your Savior the right to give you the peace you crave and the punishments you deserve in order to become a pure child of Magenta. Observed by our Watcher of Mint Eye. Cleanse yourself and let me cleanse you."

The sobs and your own sandpaper and dust tongue still clog your throat.

"The loneliness you feel is the result of the heathen life you've left behind. Once your trial has finished, you will never bear this pain again under a peaceful life within Eden, little one. You will live in happiness with your family of new brothers and sisters, similarly saved from the worldly bowels of Hell. You all will walk this blessed path, guided by your Savior. "

Is there really such a lovely place? Is someone as tainted and unworthy as you allowed to have these kinds of hopes?


	14. Chapter 14

It's so quiet.

So dark.

The only sound in this ominous place is your short and wheezy respiration and what sounds like rhythmic beats of airy static coming from the intercom system. Sconces lining the dreariness barely give off enough light to determine wall from ceiling. Letting tired sage settle and focus, your surroundings become more clear to him.

And it absolutely sickens the disciple.

Beyond the bars, you lay tightly wound into yourself. The binds he'd wrapped at your wrists and legs loosely just days ago are tight, red and swollen with infection. Pus and blood marr the braids darkly in crusts. But, what stops the man in his tracks is your color.

You have none, even in the faint warm hues the lights give off.

So pale... your ashen skin looks waxy and drawn. If you weren't breathing as harshly and shallow as you are, he'd never expect that you were even alive.

Has it always been so cold in here? He shivers as his feet finally begin to advance. Each sprawled toe takes in the porous rock surface below in torturous slow pats. Chill spreads from the balls of his naked feet and through his soles, a resonant burn that trails upwards and entangles with all the other averse emotions to create a heavy pit of foreboding within him; it only grows heavier the deeper he creeps in.

The path to you seems so long, those bars caging your limp form like a moving obstacle, taking you further from his grasp the more steps he takes. It makes him dizzy, how unattainable you seem.

When he finally reaches your cell door, it's all he can do not to wretch in a panic as his hands dig in his pockets for the blasted set of keys. The forgotten bottle of medicated water sloshes in its tuck as finally, body-warmed metal jabs at his tips.

Red-tinged hair falls into Unknown's face as he fidgets with the keys, knowing which one he's looking for, but unable to find them in his dismay. They clink in his tremorous grasp and he drops the water when he gives a careless swipe at the rebellious tresses to better his vision.

"Shit!" He growls out, bending to pick it up and dropping the ring of keys in the process. "Shitshitshitshitshit!"

Frustrated, his head begins to thrum the familiar beat of withdrawal and repression. With closed eyes, he takes a nasally drag of damp air before refocusing on the task at hand. Taking a quick swig of the concoction and snatching the right key from the stones, he jams and turns the thing in its hole.

He scrambles to get to you in a sloppy inelegant mess of limbs and whining grunts.

"God..." Your lips are so chapped they've shrunken to mere lines of dried blood and hard, white peeling skin.

He knows they haven't been feeding you. He knows they haven't been giving you anything to drink... So why didn't he really think about it? He knew it would be like this but didn't actually consider it in reality. His throat burns as he bites it back.

He can't cry for you.

He shouldn't...

This is part of purification. He knows of the theory, it's ingrained into the basic knowledge of all in Magenta's Eden. But this is the first he's seen it in action. He can't catch his breath.

Why does someone who was willing to come need to be purified to such intense measures?

"Mnuhh-!" A sob escapes, but the disciple quickly reins it back in. His eyes wander to the injuries he helped cause; the angry blues and blacks and greens and reds that aren't supposed to be devouring you or seeping out of you. His hands twitch as he reaches out, gliding over you but not touching.

This treatment can't be what the Savior wanted.

This can't be the work of his lovely Savior,...can it? Those sparkling emeralds would never look upon this method with her blessing! Her gaze is only meant for beauty!

This...

This isn't beautiful. This is painful to look at. This is inhumane.

This reminds him of his life with mother.

He chokes on unshed tears as he takes care with your stiffened and abused form, gently pulling you against him. You make no sounds aside from the weak puffs from lungs that seem overworked.

"Hey..." He whispers, but its more of a whimper at your unhearing ears. "Hey, come on little lamb... Please?"

He presses the spout of his bottle against your lips, careful to squeeze in only small drops at a time. It's not enough, but the fact that you start to move your jaw and dart your tongue out towards the moisture is a good sign and he sighs in shuddered huffs giving you as much more as he thinks you can safely manage.

You feel so much smaller than before. It hasn't even been that long... Your listless limbs hang, knotted together in front of you as your back rests along the disciple's chest. His knees rest on either side of you working to keep you upright as he delivers to you the fluids your body so desperately needs.

God. It won't be enough...

He'll have to leave you again.

But, he'll get you out of here. First, a visit to the Savior is paramount to any 'work' he has. She needs to know about all of this. He's sure she'll fix the grave mistake that has been made here.


	15. Chapter 15

Writing codes and text and look at pictures and hack.

Eat some chips, rinse with soda and repeat it all again.

Occasionally roll from the chair and into the bathroom, roll back and start again. Baby wipe baths and deodorant applications when the work becomes too intense to stop.

It's all the same, when one boils it all down to the essentials. Sleep is a sacrifice that is necessary for answers. Usually, those answers are rewarded with money. But, this red-headed hacker wants so much more.

There hasn't been any traces from you for the better part of a week from your bank cards or social media. He can't even find glimpses of your face from traffic cams nor satellite.

From the moment you stepped foot into the elevator, many feeds blanked out leaving nothing but static snow and you... You seemingly vanished without a trace.

Observation has concluded that you are an innocent bystander that has been pulled into the fray. Hacker and group pitted against hacker and group. What exactly did that organization want from you? How would your entrance into that apartment and into his life have helped their plans? What could have happened?

So many questions! ... It's exhausting.

"Ughh..." Removing his striped spectacles, Luciel rubs at his heavy lids with purpose. He couldn't get to sleep even if he tried right now. Too many mysteries left to solve that only devolve into more, smaller queries.

When he first brought your phone home and hooked it up, 'surprise' is the only word that comes to mind when he found you logged into a feeder app connected essentially to the R.F.A's messenger. It was a rough blueprint version that looked like the first run-plan he'd used before updating and installing it for the other members.

How did you get that?

Scans had pulled streams of encrypted conversation you had up until the elevator, proving your note had been honest... Lucky you, or he'd have already put out a warrant for your immediate arrest in order just to find you. Or, unlucky if you really think about. Can't really get all that extra help when you're innocent.

He couldn't find anything on "Unknown" either, running into IP scramblers and dead-ends with every scan.

Breathe in.

Breathe out.

"Come on~" In.

"You'll find something..." Out.

He's got to. It can't simply be coincidence that Rika had gotten so paranoid to beg for a bomb to put in her apartment. It can't be coincidence that she decided to put an end to her life breaking herself before the pressure from 'them' broke her worse. This has to be that very same organization.

It has to. He feels it in his gut.

And now, there is someone else at risk.

It's already gone too far. He has to work; has to keep going so that he can finish this. So no one ever has to meet the same fate. V hasn't been answering his calls, so until he's able to relay everything that he has learned, Luciel will keep on.

But first, he needs a break. Everything is blurring together and he can't focus on single lines anymore.

"Hmm," The man hums to himself absently, taking a moment to stretch his fingers in a bridge as they pop overhead. His agency work is caught up, thankfully enough. One less thing to worry about. "Ehhhh..."

Unlocking his own phone, his pointer opens up the messenger. It's time to check in, see if anybody has been having any issues that weren't covered in the beginning of the week chat.

He doubts it, but still enters, scrolling through backlogs. An unsatisfying emptiness grips him and he bites the inside of his cheek.

Might as well spam some of the sickest new memes to get rid of the wall of daily selfies.

Wait!

No.

No, no. He's got a better plan.

"Hehehe...~" He saves many of the new pictures to his phone and quickly gets down to business transferring them to his pc. Photo editor open and copious clicks later and his new masterpieces are ready to be sent. The chatroom is filled with WereZens and DatBoiZens and KittyZens and FeelsZens galore.

"Mmm, yes. Feed the tripter bot, dear.~" His psyche is satisfied just thinking about the silver-haired god's future of brief distress and he chuckles imagining the probable influx of 'angry' selfies to come.

"Ahh.~" Back to the grind.

('707 has left the chatroom.')


	16. Chapter 16

That voice!

Heat surges his veins like an inferno, hate churns in his chest as he presses against the wall just outside the Savior's quarters. What is that traitor doing here? How in the hell did he get in.

"Rika... " The disciple hisses under his breath, that man has no right to utter his Savior's name. His lips only sully its ring. How dare he-

"Saeran, my dear boy..." He startles at his own true name being called and looks around in a panic before straightening his face and turning into the doorway. "It is in poor practice to eavesdrop in on a conversation, no matter how poor the company." Her pretty lips tick downward a fraction before regaining their peaceful simper. "But, I am grateful for your interference. Will you please remove this man from my room? I am tired."

"Saeran...?" The traitor cocks his head in question, mouth ajar. "No, wait... Rika, what is he-?"

"You don't get to say that name, backslider!" Roughly gripping the man's wrist, Saeran all but growls, yanking him away.

Teal locks fall into his face as he stumbles behind, the cane he holds in his other hand scrapes along the polished floor. Confusion is the only thing that keeps his feet moving as the disciple pulls at him. "But... you were supposed to have been at school with a good family and a happy life. She agreed; you agreed... Rika..." Mumbling to himself, he looks back to the place where he just came; where he knows she is. Though his sight fails him, he can feel her there. Her gaze dances like prickles of fire and ice upon his covered skin. He can smell her scent of flowers and vanilla and clove. He knows she's watching, that she hears him.

"Mmmhm... That boy has always been in good hands with me. He is my greatest treasure. My disciple, my smart boy. He is a child of Magenta; the best family you could ever hope for him to have." Airily, the savior laughs the words, emerald set and watching the two make their way out in half pride and disgust. "You would know this if you had just stayed. If you would have only just believed in me..." His pleading expression is delightful to the Savior, sweetening even the bitterness and void that builds in her stomach.

Finally, managing to get the blinded fool out of his Savior's room. His grip retracts as if repulsed by the man's very presence. Absently, he wipes his palm on the thigh of his pants.

"What the hell are you doing here?!" Jaws clenched, Saeran speaks through his teeth. "Follow me quietly or I won't hesitate to tie you up and drag you like the trash you really are."

"No need." Cane dangling from two fingers, the trespasser holds up his hands in effort to placate. "I just wanted to speak to her." Limbs falling to his sides, the tip of his instrument clatters hollowly on the tile below. Blurred and shadowed, he follows the disciples retreating form.

"You know she has nothing to say to you."

"..." The teal-haired man hums solemnly in concession. "There's been some movement against her organization that I wanted to discuss." He says in a genial tone that doesn't sit well with the disciple.

He almost spits, it's so vile.

"The Savior has nothing to do with that group of frauds!" Whipping around just enough to see his own reflection in the man's sunglasses, Saeran seethes. He knows V isn't speaking about Magenta. He never takes her true family serious enough to call it 'hers.' "You've kept them afloat with lies. You keep them from Heaven. How dare you march in here with your pitiful injuries and demand audience with the woman you betrayed."

"I just want to keep them safe, Sarean. Some sort of compromise, at least... Just like I want to protect you... Please, leave with me. Let me get you some help. Hate me all you want, I deserve it but... come with me."

Sage eyes widen and brows pinch at the audacity, 'Unknown' is shaking. He can feel every word like an annoying prick at his nape.

"What help?" He laughs and it is bitter, full of malice. "I don't need anything from you. Especially your 'help.'" Turning back, he continues his steps quickening his pace to put more distance between the semi-blinded man and himself.

"Saeran-"

The disciple stiffens, the muscles in his jaw pronounced. "Don't you dare say my name again." He doesn't look back, his fists clench at his sides making his leather wrist straps squeal in protest. Saeran can hear the pathetic scuttle of cane and unsure steps. "You had your chance to help, and yet you forgot about me. You left me to my mother after giving me a glimpse of hope, a small taste of freedom. You let me stew deeper in her abuse and the nasty smell of stale alcohol. Only the Savior came to save me from that pitiful state. You want to take all of this away from me, too? You want to take away this family, this life that she built for me? Don't be ridiculous. I don't need your worthless assistance. All you are doing is wasting my time."

Thankfully, the teal-haired man is quiet, following the path out in obedience. 'Unknown' smirks at the small victory.

"Leave. If you ever truly loved the Savior, if ever you trusted her... God, no... Even if you didn't, just don't come back." The foyer comes into view and he stops, knowing full well the other disciples will see him out of the estate, their shadows already on the move.

"Please... Take care of that guest of yours, Saeran. Keep an eye out." Saeran flinches at the conspiratorial whisper as the man passes by in his broken gait.

"V... How...?" No... it doesn't matter how and he can already figure it out anyway. He can't afford to let the words of a liar affect him. "Our Magenta is of no concern to those that have not been invited. Our Eden is not meant for those that betray Heaven itself."

The man only nods, noncommittal and absolutely infuriating.

"When will you tell them that she isn't dead? When are you finally going to be honest? It will make my job much more simple if I can invite the others if they knew that their faith in you was a sham." Saeran scoffs, walking away. "You are so full of shit. Get off your fucking high horse and consider for a second how much your 'help' actually hurts."

He doesn't have time to look back; doesn't have anymore time to waste. The disciple needs to speak with his Savior. He needs her approval of your treatment to come.

Yes. Today is day two of rehabilitation. Time to heal you from your past, time to integrate you into your new future as a child of Magenta. Maybe she'll grant your release from that awful place.

As he moves through the brightly lit halls, further from the pest and closer to his beloved Savior, breathing becomes easier and his thoughts less burdensome.

He was right to continue to trust the golden-haired woman and her teachings. He was right to remain faithful. Never has she steered him wrong.

When she had taken it upon herself to explain her vision of your past and the trials that you needed to overcome; detailed once more the necessity of the purification ceremony, the embarrassment of doubtful thoughts burned his cheeks in shame. Her gentle words, her tender smile spoke volumes of her love for you and all the children of this Eden. And, when she asked him to help you learn the ways and tend to your torn soul; he'd felt honored to receive such a task and her blessing.

Pulling his spout bottle from a deep jacket pocket, white and fire tinged locks fall away from his brow as he knocks back a generous swig. Their have been no unpleasant thoughts since his conversation with the Savior yesterday, no headaches.

No more pain and no more hesitation.

Even you had smiled after drinking of this medicine. The life that looked to have left you in your trials came back a little as you took in the liquid he tried so hard to avoid. Anything that could give you such peace after such soul-cleansing torment can never truly be considered bad.

He should have known.

No.

No more shame for his doubt. She had absolved him of this matter and advised him back to the path he was meant to stay. Unknown had questions and as great a leader as the Savior is, she provided him with the answers he was seeking; an honestly that R.F.A severely lacks under the piled lies of V.

One last corner stands between him and his lovely and compassionate and forgiving Savior. He turns it with a proud, straight spine and a smile curving his lips.

"My Savior," Saeran drops to his knee, gracefully bowing his head. "The traitor is gone and no longer threatens to stain the beauty in your gaze."

"Ah," The Savior, Rika hums in approving delight. "Very good, my dearest disciple. Raise your head, we have many things to discuss."

Raising softened sage to meet bright emerald, he nods.

"We spoke at length yesterday, but I want to make sure that you are sure you are willing to perform the tasks that I ask of you." Her dainty tongue dips out to swipe at her lower lip before she continues. "I'd like for you to dress the lamb's wounds using the finest that our medical team has to offer. Show the lamb to your quarters and tend to them. You will be their knowledge. You will be their care and protection. My dearest, this is to be done with the love of all of Magenta. Their well-being is your top-priority.

All of your other tasks may be put on hold until your charge is well-versed in the ways of our Eden... Are you still certain that you are up to taking this on? It requires a lot to guide a lost lamb to the right path, my disciple..." Pausing, she taps at her chin thoughtfully. "My Shepherd."

"Yes, my Savior."


	17. Chapter 17

"You poor thing..." Saeran mouths the words against the top of your head. You've gone through so much, he is so proud that you withstood it all. Behind him, the hinges of the cell door whine and the bars clank as the door swings shut. With you in his grasp, this place doesn't seem so dark and the usual headaches cease. You're being released.

You are pure.

Did you cry while he was gone? How much did it hurt? No matter how hard he tries, the guilt is still there.

It was necessary.

It takes agony to expel agony, especially a lifetime's worth. Scraping away at filth is required in order to cleanse.

It pains him to see the infections surrounding the angry impressions of the ropes that bound you and he is careful to maneuver you in such a way not to aggravate them. He's even forsaken his wrist-straps for your care leaving them on his desk, baring his own scars to the world in order to best comfort your wrecked form.

The lights of the halls showcase the bruises and bags beneath your eyes; you look so tired, even as you sleep but, wrapped in his jacket, warm and freed you seem pacified. Exhausted and yet, at peace.

He won't lie, looking at you like this, draped in his clothing... It makes him feel something. Something strange...

Good, maybe? Would that even make sense? No... too lacking.

Protective?

Needed?

Whatever it is, he likes the powerful feel of it. Never has he felt power. He was a sick boy, a beaten boy. He depended on those that would only fail him, until his Savior came to him. She's given him his health, rights to his own body... It's now his to do with as he pleases, cause his own pain as he wishes, to move and build as much as he wants... Now this. She's provided this wonderful, heady feeling of being depended on. He's no longer that boy. He is a man.

A man that won't fail you.

The faint pats of his feet along the tiles, your soft huffs and his low humming surround the both of you as the disciple passes decorative sconces and paintings and pictures with slow gait and steady hold.

You don't smell very good, but he doesn't flinch away. He only holds you that much closer. Ready to care for you. He's ready to wash away the stench of your past, to heal the wounds on your body. He is ready to teach you the peace of Eden.

He's ready to hear you speak, to see those cute eyes and that adorably awkward smile.

He's ready to be your world, your mentor; to guide you through it all.

The door is propped open, just as he left it and he grins, glad to have thought ahead enough to be so considerate. It's a dark room, painted in deep blues and lit by a wall of monitors at one end, fans abuzz creating a delightfully comforting ambiance in contrast to the foreign addition of a bed in place of his preferred couch. It's covered in as many pillows as he could find and a puffed comforter. It looks a bit ridiculous, but that doesn't matter at all.

When Saeran had thought of his own experiences, back in his bound and captive childhood, the one word he found while thinking of a way to soothe you...

Soft.

All he was provided were hard floors thin sheets. There's no way he'd ever subject you to that. He will give you far more. He'll give you anything you need. The Savior is counting on him to do this and he is more than happy to oblige.

Easing onto the mattress, you curl into his lap. His red-tinged hair ghosts across your cheeks as his hands work delicately to readjust you. Your nose twitches and his smile grows. He sits there for a moment, the heady feeling of being responsible for someone other than himself leaves Saeran with a sense of belonging that even his knowledge of code and computer hadn't.

Is this what Saeyoung felt back then?

Just thinking of his older sibling sours his thoughts, but looking at you leaning against his chest, relying on his frame for support... He just doesn't understand.

If that man that calls himself 'Luciel' ever felt like this with him, then why would he have left him behind? Why would he so easily choose to forget him?

Was he just a burden or what,.. a human sacrifice made helpless with false hope just so 'Luciel' could run far, far away?

Unintentionally, the disciple's grip on you tightens and you gasp and whimper in your sleep; lines wrinkle between your brows at the pressure around your injuries. He freezes, dragged out of his thoughts and back to present and he rolls to his side, easing you into a lay on the cushions.

He won't do that to you.

He's a much better man than 'Luciel.'

His fingertips absently swipe the hair from your face, tucking it behind your ear. You are a part of his family now. You are to be his assistant. You will take your place beside him as he sends the traitors to hell and reveal them for what they are.

You will help him to grow this Eden of Magenta's children bound for Heaven once the facts have been unveiled. Together, glory for the Watcher of Mint Eye and Magenta's Savior; the true Messiah of this age.


	18. Chapter 18

Warmth.

It glides over your skin in tender, leisurely passes leaving a refreshing cool in its wake. Fingertips tickle your palms as the hand they belong to levels out your arm to support the limb as the other works the damp sponge in circles at your shoulder and down, down to your elbow. Your wrist stings, but it is dulled to this nice feeling. This touch, like a dream.

You haven't dreamed anything so pleasant in so long... you tentatively doubt that you are asleep.

Chill dances along the moistened trail, heat fading into your skin as you hear the sloshing of water when the sponge is dunked and squeezed into a bucket or basin or... whatever it is.

You don't feel the cold of that cell, the scrape and porous surface of the stones or the splintering binds at your extremities. There are aches all along your body but you can only just feel their existence. Swathed in a tranquil fog you lay, flesh taking in the tingles of sensitized freshness and the whispers of soft cloth and sending waves of bliss down your spine.

Almost afraid that you are pranking yourself, you don't want to open your eyes. Don't want to find yourself back to being bound and alone. Your breath betrays you, hitching as tears well beneath your lids.

"It's all over, little lamb."

You gasp at that voice. It's still the same, soft and monotonal, gentle with just an edge of humorous lunacy. And it is right here, right next to you. Your wet eyelashes flutter as you find your resolve.

It is dim, wherever you are, blue-grey lights flicker as the familiar red-tinged hair and sage eyes catch your own unfocused gaze.

He's here. You laugh in astonishment, but it catches and you begin to cough. Unused and clogged with scratch and swell, you try to breathe through it. It surprises you further when his touch is at your back, lifting you as if you were as delicate as an infant and even more when he slides so close beside you. Your lungs stutter even more furiously.

The arch of his bare foot curves along your hip, his slender jean-clad calf and thigh supports your side and back and he's rubbing circles between your shoulderblades. This is all surreal.

This is too nice.

This is too much.

You can't catch your breath.

Too much. It's too much. This can't be real. You aren't in this place. You are still in that dungeon. You are still alone. It's all a trick of the mind. You are dying.

Accept it.

ACCEPT IT!

The tears are hot as they fall. They won't stop. Your every respiration is heavy and quick, with absolutely no pay off. You feel the arteries in your neck almost as if they are strangling you in their numbness. Do you even have a pulse?

Is your heart even beating?

You can hear nothing but the buzzing and distant ringing in your ears. There is so much pressure coming from every which way, it's impossible to discern left from right, up from down. Disoriented; all you can do is just try to gulp in whatever air you can manage.

It hurts. All the pain, all at once. It hits your chest, your ribs constrict, stabbing your lungs and making your breaths just that much more shallow.

God. Please, please, please...

Just let you die. Let this end.

It's too cruel to show you these false scenes, too mean to give you a taste of companionship that will probably never happen.

You don't deserve this. It's too much. TOO MUCH!

"Hmm hm hm~."

Ba-dum. Ba-dum.

The buzzing gives way.

"Hmm hmm hmmmm~."

You can almost see again, panic blindness fades away as once more you are in that dark room of flickering light.

"Hmm hm hm~."

Your damp cheek is pressed against the disciple's chest as it rumbles with that same haunting melody he hummed on the trek up the mountain. His fingers are stroking through the tangles in your mussed hair.

Ba-dum. Ba-dum.

"Hmm hmm hmmmm~."

You are so dizzy. It's easier to breathe but your body is way too heavy for you to keep holding up so you allow yourself to lean into him. You let him pet you, let him console you with that sadly sweet song. His scent of soap and tobacco and fresh air surrounds you.

It calms you.

"Hmm hm hm~."

Ba-dum. Ba-dum.

He calms you.

"Hmm hmm hmmmm~."

"I-It's..." Swallowing hard, you try to force out more than just raspy air and squeaks this time. "It's really all over?"

" MmHmm hm hm~."He hums in agreement, letting it meld into the tune. You sigh, a watery laugh at your trembling and sore lips.

Ba-dum. Ba-dum.

"Hmm hmm hmmmm~."

"No more pain?" He stops humming, the fingers in your hair drop to line your jaw and chin as he lifts it, catching your dilated stare with his own of the same.

"No more. Welcome to Magenta's Eden, small one."

Ba-dum. Ba-dum.


	19. Chapter 19

Blinding lights burn high above, illuminating a freshly cleaned bunker with floors as good polished as mirrors; no sign of food bags or dirty laundry anywhere in the main living space. And then, there's the desk where Luciel sits. Soda cans encircle the keyboard as his fingers fly furiously over the keys just shy of a song-like rhythm.

The maid didn't forget this area. No, no. She just doesn't want to deal with him any more. His antics were beyond frustrating and honestly, she's not being paid enough for this shit.

Or... at all, actually. Even worse.

Every time she would remove a can, he would pop a new tab and set the full can in its place like a fucking homing beacon targeted toward clear space. She just gives up, leaving the red-head to his obligations and trying desperately not to taze or stab him a little on her way out.

"There would be either spit or blood or PhD. Pepper spills and It would ruin the cleanliness, all of my hard work would be for nothing..." She grumbles in her deep, exasperated timbre, coaxing herself onward; convincing herself the best she can, "Don't do it... Don't do it... Don't-"

The hollow clanks resound among the tapping and occasional slurps.

Honestly, the hacker hadn't even known Vanderwood was there, or left, for that matter; too absorbed in unfurling complexities to care. He's been at the edge of his seat for hours now, literally. His spine so straight, eyes zeroed in on blinking text as he puzzles through it all this one last time. He has to be sure. There is no room for error.

One last glance over, proves his findings to be true. Exhilaration fills him, brimming his lungs with a deep breath of cool air.

"Ah-ha~!" With a tired giggle spawned from far too much caffeine and way too little sleep, Seven flops back into his well-cushioned chair as it hisses out extra air from its foamy decadence.

He has a name! The organization has a name!

"Thank you, lord!" He mouths on a sigh.

Such a clever little hacker they have, too. Clearly, not enough for him though.

Heh. It took so much combing, sifting through binary and line upon line on top of even more lines. Streams of endless, seemingly nonsensical letters of numbers formed of bare excess.

A rough little gem of a calling card, for reals.

It was a knot wound so tight, so deep that had he any less experience, it would have eaten him whole and claimed victory over this fire-haired computer pro genius extraordinaire.

But, it didn't.

He laughs again, relief evident in the huffed out sigh; so proud to have accomplished his task. Still, only a fraction of his goal. It is definitely something to be satisfied with. After all, he tugged so hard; pulled so precisely!

From this, he can glean answers. With this name, Luciel will be able to track down hints and locations and members... He can serve justice to those whom so dearly need it.

Justice for Rika... for V, Yoosung... The entire R.F.A! What isn't there to be proud of?!

So many heart-breaking mysteries can come to a close with something more than half-cocked answers pulled from the void... This information could prove to be the break that entire families have been waiting for. So, he swallows the uneasiness that is swirling in his stomach.

"Mint Eye..., Hmm?" What's left of his smile drops, tired dull amber shadowed by exhaustion bruises scan the words, reading them and letting it roll on his tongue once, twice, three times. "Such a strange name..."

Truly, it is a weird enough name to have given him tons of grief, making him second-guess his findings multiple times already. No more. No more, he's been going at this song and dance with the same results.

He's right.

Luciel KNOWS he's right. Just like he knows that within this name lies closure and the ability to move on beyond the loss of a dear friend... And to save you... Wherever you are; an innocent caught in the crossfire.

No one gets left behind... Seven has never met you, has no real connection to you other than this organization funny-business... But he's not going to turn his back on you. Especially not when he knows, he FEELS that you need help.

He won't do that to anyone else ever again.

Never again.

If he is able to help, he is going to do whatever it takes to do so. Even if it costs him his life.


	20. Chapter 20

He takes such great care with your wounds. Hands trembling ever so slightly, but his touch is so gentle, even when applying the salve that stings and gauze that sticks. The wraps are secure, not uncomfortably tight, not too loose to hold. And his eyes, a shadowed sage lined in black watch you always for any hint of distress.

It's touching.

It's nice.

It's way more than you deserve.

You have been purified, reborn. You should have shed your past, and yet you feel so damn guilty. You couldn't even do that right. But the words, the truth won't spill from your mouth. You can't tell him. Out of the chamber, you are allowed the medicine that takes away your pain. It gives you euphoria and numbs the thoughts, quells them until you've cleared it from your system through your slumber and awaken to their haunting echoes once again. It's a cycle yet, you crave it... Right now, you know you'd break without it.

Your heart aches.

Your eyes burn.

You smile for him. It's not the full, toothy type that reaches your eyes, but even still... he's not smiling back anymore.

Shit.

"You're hiding something." God, his gaze is intense. Enough to make you feel much smaller than you actually are. Where are your words? Your thoughts?

Silence and self-frustration are all you are able to manage on the spot. You huff nasally and manage to tear your stare away from his own.

So soon, and you've already disappointed him. He's been waiting on you, treating you like royalty and here you are hanging onto your past and letting yourself ruin this... Whatever it is.

You craved company, needed skinship more than you even thought you did, wanted to get away from the boredom and escape the hardships of finding a job and someplace to live. He's handed you all these things on a silver platter. You have his presence, his undivided attention... he's giving you all that he can...

Why can't you just enjoy it?

Why can't you just allow yourself this much?

It's because you're a liar.

A con artist.

A sham.

Who are you supposed to be right now? Laid back, enjoying the miracle drugged water and cracking jokes? Should you be asking him questions about this cult? Should you be asking Mr. Unknown about himself? Should you be asking about the Savior?

Which fucking 'you' should you be?!

Should you just be quiet and go with the flow? Ask about what is expected of you? Should you be more serious, more attentive? Should you really be sitting here doing absolutely nothing?

You feel so useless; ARE so useless...

You came to be his assistant, right? Why aren't you assisting him? Why is it that he's acting like your slave and you are letting him?

You're doing it all wrong.

Of course you'd fuck this all up. You can't even answer him when he speaks to you. Instead, you bury your blank gaze on a pile of pillows, absently watching the dancing lights as they flicker in muted greys and blues and lit blacks that are just shy of being purple.

"Just a guess, but... You don't have to forget, you know?" Your ear perks at his solemn sound; it's knowing, experienced and laced with a dull ache that forces you to turn your head back. "We all have our reasons. Here in Eden, we live in peace with each other with a purpose. We have goals, some... have vendettas, but here is a place where we can be together with others just like us. Sinners purified by the watcher of Mint Eye, absolved of all impurities the moment we confess our dealings to our merciful Savior.

She takes all our contaminations onto herself, listens and grants forgiveness to all. Conversing with God in a way that only she can. You were purified to find out who you truly are and what your purpose is. Your past won't go away, but you have been cleansed of all the indiscretions from it." Rubbing at his temples, you catch a glimpse of the thin sheen of sweat breaking out along his forehead, his skin looks so pale. His shaking is only getting worse.

Spotting the black-tinted bottle on the sheet to your side, you reach for it. Among tremors of your own, you manage to grab it and hand it to the disciple, trying your damnedest to keep it steady.

"Thanks." You muster feebly, as he takes the load from your palm. No longer is he looking at you. He's looking through you; immersed in his own mind even as he drinks and slips the bottle back towards you.

Sipping, you allow your own dose to slide down your throat; bitterness tamed with a dash of honey. You keep stealing glances, can't help it.

It's easier to breathe now that the pounding and thoughts have been muted. You want to take more of the medicine... truthfully you'd bathe in the stuff if you could.

You stifle that stupid urge, opting to settle into the mass of cushions and blankets.

"Hey, ... ummm,... disciple?" His head tilts a little and he hums at you vacantly in question, you can tell he's still thinking but then again, he is all you are seeing at the moment; trapped in this pleasant bubble and masked from the outside world. "Will... will you lay down with me?"

You want him in the present, here with you. Knowing you sound whiny right now with your scratchy throat and broken pitch, you still couldn't care less. The cool liquid sloshing in your belly is steadily warming your limbs and nape, fogging your brain in the most pleasant of ways. It settles your nerves and frees you enough to speak your thoughts. He's here with you, so you want him really, REALLY here. Those unfocused eyes are staring deadset straight into the past and you want to know... you're curious...

Who is he, behind 'Unknown" and the disciple?

You gasp, blinking away your inner monologue and finally realize you're staring right at him and he's staring right back at you. Already neat and tucked up with a hand beneath his cheek and a smirk on his face.

Your cheeks grow hot enough to start a fire and he chuckles at you.

This is nice.

Your heart beats in slow pumps with a dull ache of memories you can remember but cant actually recall at the moment.

"I want to uh, know more about you... Umm..." Stumbling over your words because speech is difficult when you can focus and even more so when you can't, you bite at your lip and continue as best you can, "Would you-W- Would you mind telling me?"

"What do you want to know, lamb... You're going to need to be more specific if you want answers~." This little shit is enjoying your stutter-show. Turning his laugh into his own hand and then back at you as if trying to hide it. You don't care that he's poking fun, only glad that his eyes have softened and his smile is back.

"Dick." You stick your tongue out at him and try to stifle your own goofy giggle while maintaining a stern facade... which is terrible, by the way. "What's your... your... um... name? Y-your favorite um... color...? Tell me a-about yourself... Please?"

That smile fades a bit as his gaze darkens.

Shit.

"You want to call me by my name, huh? Well, what should I say?" He laughs under his breath but it holds no real humor. "You could just keep calling me 'Unknown,' or 'Mr. Disciple Sir,'" he mimics your calls from previous times, shooting you a wink." Ahh~, but really I am nothing, no one. Not even supposed to exist. Saeran~... Saeran is dead... both dead AND waiting to die~." Musing to himself, he hums, letting the sentiment waft about in the still air.

"Saeran?" He stops, those sage pools once again on you, pink slightly painting the bridge of his nose and mouth hung in a small 'o.' "I-I'm sorry, if you ahhh, if you don't want me to uh, call you that I won't. S-Sorry!" You bite your lip again, clenching your lids shut because you're sure you've done eff'd up.

"N-Nah... You're... You're okay. I... I don't mind?" His brows pinch, clearly confused. Clearing his throat, he answers the other question quickly. "And... it's red."

You flinch a little. It's automatic, habitual; the flashes still raw even in your cloudy mind and he cocks his head into the pillows.

"What's wrong?"

Oh boy. You don't want to tell him, but you do at the same time. And before you can attempt to mull it over, your mouth is already stumbling over all the things you've recently re-lived.

It's all too fresh to ignore.


	21. Chapter 21

He's pissed.

Like, unbelievably pissed. His face is so tight, screwed up in scowl and you have absolutely no clue what you should say now that he knows a part of your life story... It just spilled out, one thing after another like uncontainable word vomit. You can't feel your cheek, but you are sure you've chewed the inside of it to hell and back. The familiar taste of liquid dirt and iron is all over your tongue, the scent clinging to the back of your nose and throat.

It's shameful, knowing that he knows.

Even more so, seeing how angry Saeran is. You know you are a disgrace, but witnessing how wide those eyes are and just how tightly his jaw is clenched. His brows can't possibly get any closer, either... You feel the sob burning in your chest, waiting for your tears to release.

No, you won't cry. You deserve this. He needs to see you for what you really are. He needs to-

"I can't... just... What the FUCK!" He growls, but the fingertips tracing the line of your face are so tender it catches you completely off guard. "I can't believe you've had to live through all that shit..."

Damn it.

The floodgates have opened and hot tears roll down your cheeks as you are blindsided by his words. God, no... He's mistaken. You've constantly put yourself in those predicaments. You've always invited trouble with your inadequacies.

He's wrong.

You deserved all you got throughout your life. You weren't good enough, never worked hard enough, didn't pay enough attention to your surroundings or what you said to whom. You are worthless-

"You didn't deserve that kind of abuse. No one does... and... so... so young..." His hands are so shaky but he's so careful when he pulls you close to his chest. "The Savior won't let those things happen to you any more... I won't... I won't let anyone hurt you ever again. I'll kill them. I will kill them all. Every one that ever laid their hands on you..."

Shaking your head at the notion, you're hiccoughing now, messing up his shirt as your disgusting excretions soak into the soft fabric in strings, no doubt drenching the man underneath. He doesn't seem to care about that, though and silently you are thankful.

"You're... you've got it wrong..." Trying to find enough strength to be heard, you croak out the words through ugly sniffles and rough huffs. "I-I was n-never careful enough... I never thought anything through."

"Shut up." He breathes out, the message harsh, but he speaks them so quietly into your hair, the whispering heat of them warming your neck in tickles. "Just shut up... Everyone makes mistakes, but NO ONE deserves to be treated like less than human.

Left behind and forgotten, hit... ugh, Damn it."

His tremors are even worse now and you try to reach for the bottle again but he pulls you closer, tighter to him. It doesn't hurt, but you can't move.

"I don't know your pain, but I can understand your feelings to a degree." His voice rumbles low in his throat, his white and tinted tresses brush against your ear. Saeran is talking into the crook of your neck in whispers but you have no problem making out every word.

"You asked, so let me tell you a little story, so just... listen, okay? There was a time when I wasn't one, but two people." He sniffs, pressing into your locks for a moment before going on. "I was the favorite out of the both of us, lucky me. The wench- My mother liked to watch over me. She liked to see me in all situations; the expressions I'd make when I hadn't eaten for weeks at a time, how I'd cry when she hit me with different things, how I'd react when she'd pour her beer, wine or other liquor shit she had on hand into my open cuts.

She liked to touch me. Enjoyed the feel of my neck in her hands and the way my bones would creak if she turned them this way and that... But mostly, she liked to drink and yell or completely ignore me.

I wasn't allowed to move from my spot, she'd tie my ankles to the bed with a short rope.

I can remember barely being able to crawl six inches away." You grip onto his shirt even more, the fabric wrinkling in your fist, a gasp grasping you as a fresh flood begins to fall. Not for you, not for his misconception of you... For him.

"It wasn't all bad. My other half would free me when she was away. He'd clean me up as best as he could with dirty rags and help me to walk outside. I could look up to the sky and pretend for a while that I was nothing more than air flowing through with the clouds and kissed by the sun.

He convinced me that we would escape that life together even though I was sure I'd die before that day ever came. He showed me all the wonders of the outside world beyond my prison with books, or stories from what he heard from the people he'd meet. But as soon as I finally started to believe him... He left.

Vanished without a damn trace.

I came to realize I was groomed by him to be a burden, an obstacle, pining and crying for him to come back... something loud for our mother to focus on other than his escape. I had no information to give her, but her attention was all on me.

He abandoned me to find his own life. He forgot about me, changed his name, erased his past. I was nothing to him." Digits begin stroking your hair, petting down tangles.

"I-I'm so sorry." It's the only thing you can think to say. As he was speaking, the mental imagery of a broken and tied up little boy with dead eyes and no will to continue without his hope makes your chest constrict. "I'm so, so sorry."

He laughs, it's bitter but sweet mixed with an internal whine that you wouldn't have heard if you weren't so close.

"You don't need to be sorry. You didn't do it." Sighing, his heated puff sends a shiver down your spine. "Besides, we all have our purposes here, remember. Getting rid of him is mine..."

"I want to help you... at least, to find some sort of peace..." Raising your head a bit you press your cheek against his ear in an armless hug and nuzzle. "That's going to be my purpose."

"No. We'll find yours. It's important for you."

"I don't even know where to start." You sigh. The hold around you loosens and you take the chance to grab the medicine bottle, lifting the spout and pushing a few drops into your mouth before leaning back and offering to pump in a few for the disciple as well.

"We'll teach you..." He opens his mouth in wait, you squirt in enough for a gulp. A small trickle falls from the corner of his lip and he swipes it away with his thumb.

"I'll teach you."


	22. Chapter 22

**A/N:** _I have to go out of country due to a death in the family and I have no idea when I will be back. I won't have my computer, so I am giving you all what I have of this story so far and will hopefully manually write out some chapters while I'm away. Stay well, you all._

"Come on, V~." Luciel's knee bounces frantically as the speaker rings into his ear, "We don't have the time for this, V~."

The robotic tones of voicemail picks up the call and he hangs up and redials the older man's number again, for the fifth time, sliding down into his computer chair with nothing but his lower back and elbows hanging on.

Ring.

"Pick up the phone, V~."

Ring.

"Seriously, V~."

Ring.

Ring.

Ring.

"What the EVER LOVING FUCK, V~!" Growling now, he has no more patience, but without V he's stuck in place. No way to move forward, no plans to back up. The only way anything will get done is if he shirks his watch on the R.F.A's systems and advances without permission. No one else is even aware that there is an issue! Luciel sighs, disconnecting the call and dropping his phone onto his stomach, which is now, for all intents and purposes, a table.

He can't just leave.

Confidentiality is a bitch, a real thorn in his side and a serious damper on this mission. He finally has something and everything else is starting to piece together and he can't tell anyone! What the shit is this?!

"Haaah~." If he leaves, the R.F.A and all the member's personal information could be compromised. Their safety and reputations hang in the balance here.

But, you hang in that balance as well as the answers and rectitude of those hurt by the loss of Rika. Gah! Why can't there just be a simple solution. Why with all this secrecy?

Fuck.

Secrecy is exactly what he signed up for though, isn't it? Damn it.

Where the hell did V go?

He slides off of the chair and onto the cool floor below. Head in his hands, he gives his unwashed hair a few frustrated tugs. There are so many things wrong with this scenario. So many little things that just make the problem at hand so much bigger than it actually is.

If only he could leave! But what if something were to happen. God, no one would know. Every one of the members would think it was A-OK to keep using the messenger. V, if and whenever he decides to call back would be left with dead air and no information. Hackers could gain access to all files and NO ONE would be the wiser.

But if he succeeds...

"Damn it..." Ripping his glasses off, Luciel rubs at his eyes and temples. "V..."

It's no use even thinking of that, because it would still be leaving the group open for attack. Though, there is one route he hasn't taken yet. Sighing, he lets his hands drop, plucking his neglected phone from the valley of his pants and searches his contacts for the one person who could probably, at the very least, get a return call from V.

Deep breath in, time to play his part.

(Calling Jumin Han . . . )

Ring.

Ring.

"Jumin Han speaking." Curt and concise as always.

"Hey, hey! It's the handsome man in a suit, Jumin Han, everyone!" Even he cringes at his own 'enthusiasm.'

"I'm hanging up now. I would like to thank you for wasting my time, but I have no wish to convey such false niceties."

"Woah, woah, woah! I'm sorry~." Sputtering out the apology quickly, the redhead clears his throat. "Eh heheh... Mister director, have you, by chance, heard from our dear friend V?" This is painful... He can't let on that there is anything wrong but being this fake... it's nauseating. Still, his best sheepish voice seems to have stopped the older gentleman from disconnecting so...

Great job.

"No, I haven't." Faintly, the hacker can hear the tell-tale sound of pen scratching dutifully upon paper. That explains the bored tone and lack of question from the future CEO. "Now if that will be all, then I would like to end this call and finish up my work, Luciel."

"Oh my~, don't let me keep you. But could you do me a fa~vor~?"

"If you are going to continue to speak like an adolescent girl, then my answer is a resounding 'no.'"

"Oof! Okay, okay! my apologies." Luciel blows at his bangs, but they stick to his forehead only fluttering slightly the frayed ends. Eughhh... "Um... Could you have V give me a call, if he gets in touch with you. I haven't been able to reach him."

"Noted. Now, will that be all?" His tone has changed from 'highly uninterested' to 'chastising a child.' It's kind of thrilling and the hacker enjoys the momentary tingles that crop up along his spine.

"Can I go see Elly?" There's no harm in trying. Petting her super fluffy tufts of cat-snow would do wonders for his stress, and it's not too far away...

"No." Jumin hadn't even thought it over!

"But you-"

"And, once more, her name is Elizabeth 3rd." The businessman huffs out, clearly irritated. "Good bye, Luciel."

Nothing but silence on the other end of the line. Again.

"But you're at work right now..." He sulks into the cavern beneath his desk.

Well... Time to wait for a call. Without a furry companion.

How cold.


	23. Chapter 23

A deep breath preludes the fluttering open of your lids and you stir, well aware of the stinging in your wrists and legs. The swelling has gone down some, but you actually don't mind the pain. Its subdued steady sear helps to even out the weighty debt you feel every time the disciple speaks so kindly, handles your wounds so gently... You need this to ground you, otherwise the guilt will eat at you.

His husky voice has weaved the thought that you deserve better into your brain but you can't control the instinctual awareness carved into your very being that you... don't. That you are just a shitty actor playing the part, very, very badly. You can't...

He's pecking at the keys, the monitors react in tandem as he scans them, hyper-focused on the information that each one holds. Busy buzzing of the computers' cooling systems and the perpetual tapping lulls you as you watch from your lay, covered in downy blankets and draped in a borrowed shirt and boxers. Your fingertips glide over the bandages, feeling each edge as it passes over your prints, one by one.

Then you grip.

And then you squeeze.

It's all still real. This comfort and this pain.

You squeeze again, letting the faded twinge take over your senses and focusing on all the nerves. It's not enough to make you cry out or gasp, but you bite your lips all the same.

Because you don't want him to know.

You couldn't bear for him to know that all his sincerity is wasted on someone like you. Pain is your comfort zone. Its an old love, a habit... It's the only thing you could ever kind of feel when the rest of your days did nothing but numb you; nurturing the cold pit at your soul to be more hollow, more cavernous as every single minute ticked on.

You grin, lips still locked between your teeth as you give the injury a little twist, feeling each divet as you grind them into the scabs.

He knows about you. Probably knows too much.

You don't want to bother him with this as well.

You don't want him to think that he's causing this, because that is not true. You are just fucked in the head. You need this punishment.

This grounds you.

The aches let you know that you are alive.

This is real.

This comfort and this pain.

It's all real and with this, your conscience might just allow you to believe that it's okay to feel content with the genial treatment that you've been receiving.

You let go, the offending hand dropping to the fabric below limply. Your mind is clear, the dose having been slept off... Everything is too clear right now. Your racing thoughts send sharp shocks through every synapse with each beat of your heart. It's not the type of pain that brings you relief.

He left you the bottle, so you help yourself to a couple of drops hoping that it will sit well enough this time.

So tired of the sloshing in the emptiness of your stomach, so dizzy from thinking and trying not to think. The broth of your regurgitated dinner washes away with the bite of bitter and honey and you allow yourself to fall back into your nest of pillows and blankets, eyes focused on the back of Saeran's head as it tilts back releasing a sigh to the sky until the sight blurs and you succumb to fuzzy embrace of the Savior's medicine and sleep.

For a moment, before the stupor of slumber has you firm in its grasp, you could almost swear you felt eyes on you from the doorway. Your lids are to heavy to look, mind too fogged to care.


	24. Chapter 24

He can't forget the way you felt in his arms; how well you fit, the way you seemed to meld into each other's dips and curves so perfectly. A beautiful tangle of splayed limbs, hearts beating in sync and shallow breaths. The disciple doesn't remember the last time he'd slept so well or been so warm and close to anyone else.

Addicting.

But, unfortunately, he couldn't just stay that way. Sleeping so soundly after being used to catnaps and long nights kind of fucked up that pacifying state of companionable comfort, leading the man to wake up energetic and ready to face the day. Any other time, he'd be thankful for the boost of vitality; now is not one of those times.

It's just past two in the morning and once again, he's in front of his monitors, clacking away breaking the buzzing silence of the room.

Searan couldn't just stay still, he'd fidget here and there and you would make some sound in your sleep in protest. Not wanting to be the cause of a restless night for you, up he got, taking a generous dose and leaving the bottle to rest with you.

You'll need it.

You hadn't been able to keep down much of your dinner or medicine earlier and hadn't fared any better at walking in a straight line to the bathroom, even when assisted. Your knees would give, your eyes would roll... It was worrying.

A quick search of your symptoms earlier in the day had allayed his concerns, easily enough. More liquids, get your stomach back into working order before switching over to heavier things. Plenty of care and time, basically.

Time...

It will take time to recover. Little by little, step by step. 'Unknown' has every intent to be right by your side through it all. You are his lamb and he is your shepherd. You are the student, he is your teacher. You are his assistant...

You are his...

You are his.

He likes the ring of that.

He runs a lithe hand through his tousled hair, raking out whatever tangles he comes across as he leans back in his chair. His legs work the seat side to side as he reads off not code, but names on death certificate scans and old, old Youspace pages leading into recent FakeBook results connecting him to photos of men he doesn't know.

Sage eyes narrow, memorizing features.

They will pay.

Saeyoung, V, and these assholes with their smug, shit-eating grins. He'd like to maul them with his bare hands if given a clear opportunity. He would enjoy the slick feel of their blood coating the his knuckles and sticking between his digits. The mental imagery of watching their eyes dull and pupils shrinking to pinpricks sends a twitch to his lips, dragging it up into a devilish smirk.

Vacantly satisfied with the state of his hair, he slides lower into the chair, letting his elbows dig into the armrests as his fingers interlock, bridging beneath his chin in support.

The way you trembled as you stumbled over your words, the shaking of your dilated eyes, the way you bit your lip and looked away from him... They would pay for it all.

He recalls his own words as he vowed to kill them... how you shook your head...

No.

Ahh, fuck... You didn't want this, did you?

But why? Why wouldn't you want to punish the ones that hurt you so bad? Why wouldn't you want to inflict as much or more pain, give them a taste of your torment? Why do you blame yourself? They deserve it. They deserve to feel it all.

Sighing up to the ceiling, he closes out the tabs and stills the rocking of his seat.

If not them... What could your goal be?

"I want to help you... at least, to find some sort of peace..."

"That's going to be my purpose."

Heat blooms across Saeran's features in kisses of pink as his gaze bores a hole in the roof, the phantom of your voice barraging his mind in echoes that just makes him burn hotter beneath his scowl. The screensavers kick on, basking the room in a battle of gentle flashes and static snow.

Ssshk.

Was he hearing things? Whipping around, he perks his ear and scours the room for any sort of suspicious movement. Finding nothing but you, cocooned in sheets and snoring shortly on every inhale, he snickers to himself.

It's different sharing this room with you, so used to being alone in his own space with nothing but the monitor lights to break him from his thoughts. But it definitely doesn't seem like a bad thing.

Sharing your warmth, feeling your every breath... It's all already a habit and no... He doesn't mind it at all.


	25. Chapter 25

Shadows and outlines.

That is the world that Rika wanted him to see from the very moment her pretty little shaking fingers pressed into him, her manicure sullied by the color of his blood caused by his inadequacy and the rage he inspired. Immediately, he had missed her expression, too engulfed in his own agony to admire the way she so effectively brought him into her world simultaneously as her other booted him out of it.

She's never been cruel, no. She's troubled, cursed with overwhelming empathy and haunted by those demons. Shadows and outlines. V can see it, now with his failing sight. So many things he now notices that had gone ignored when his eyes were healthy...

There's so much darkness in this world.

And with darkness, there is void.

He loves her. Both of her.

All of her.

Her pain, her innocence; every single aspect that is 'Rika.'

With her admittedly false mask of cheer and strength she held on so long, fought so bravely, but being unable to understand he allowed himself faux pas. He became greedy, trying to fix her in ways that only wore her down more, making the other stronger.

He broke his light, letting her calignosity reign and feeding it with his grim misunderstandings.

Many times, the teal-haired man thinks about that day in the gallery. How he observed his world in such vivid colors and high-definition. No detail went unnoticed, he would have claimed... But ignorance is bliss.

The happiness and curiosity he felt as the golden haired angel descended unto that place and described his own photograph cannot possibly surpass the longing and torment he now feels. How hard had she had to look to see it in such a poetic way? She came back nearly every day and stared for hours... Is that how difficult? Or, did she only convince herself of the content, staring only at shadows and outlines?

No one but her could answer these questions that he himself never considered to ask.

Even now, half-blinded and barefoot, stumbling along mansion home of his lost love, trying to guide himself through the halls with a clumsy gait and a questionable moral compass, V hasn't the slightest idea of how to approach.

He feels more, thanks to his scars. He sees more the less he sees.

Conventionally, he knows what should happen. Emotionally, he wants to be the one closest to her, kneeling at her side the way a princess would have her knight, or her slave.

You, though... You are surrounded in darkness; smothered to the point that your outline is a match for Saeran's own.

There's a burning in V's chest that rises, spreading, growing dense and heavy. He can't watch any more. Can't half-witness you drink away your sanity with drugged water and hurt yourself until you fall asleep. He can't watch that poor boy type away the happy life he should have had with a normal family now doused with confusion and ebullient rage.

This secret scalds, searing through his veins.

His sins, his failures, his guilt.

He hobbles as quietly as he can through them all. For, this place is his doing. He is at fault for all these lost lives, those buried ashes and false prayer. The lies he's told follow him everywhere. They pile up, the chanting grows fiercer, louder, faster.

He has to end all of this.

The suicides, the murders... Too many families are grieving. This seed of doubt, of misconception has grown too large, the roots too deep.

He needs to see her, to talk to her, reason with her because he knows that part of the woman must still be within, sleeping; dim is the light no matter how deeply buried. He must rouse her. He wants so desperately to feel her sweet touch, smell her scent and wrap himself in Rika's warmth.

V wants her back, now that he knows her vision and can understand her plight... Now, they can help each other, right? It's not too late to go back to what they were, with less ignorance and more understanding?

Together, they can achieve contentment and normalcy... Right?

Or, are his sins too much to bear?

Ears tuned into every corner, every crevice, he lets his fingers drag along the walls; running over frames and metal decor as he makes his way to the entrance. The little cabin meant for what would have been their honeymoon getaway isn't too far off and the moon, he's quite positive, is high enough to showcase the vague beginnings of his step-worn path.

The wind bites at his cheeks as his hands ease the door ajar and he slides from the mansion in hush, twisting the door handle and putting it back into place before letting it go. Chirps of insects and howls of air through leaves whistle and rattle as he sticks to the shadows in trail of the dim light and trampled grass.

So close, yet so far.

His love is bittersweet and overwhelming; as soft as the petals from a rose and as violent as the stem's ragged thorns.

...He can't help but keep reaching.


	26. Chapter 26

Cushions embrace your back and the sheets are in crinkled heaps at your side. You have been at this for a while now and still, it's a struggle, a fight for dominance that is sapping all the strength from your upper body and lower extremities leaving you ragged and panting. So hard, it's almost right where you want it to be and yet tugs back, away from the opening near its tip.

You want it so bad and can't contain the vocal frustration from bubbling out in grunts and groans.

You pull and pull, but there is next to no give; wriggling and writhing as much as you can you force your body to take the pressure, sucking in a deep breath that tightens your abs. You've worked up a sweat, easing everything to where it's supposed to be, feeling it out and allowing your aggression to take control.

And finally, it gives and you leisurely draw the zipper up as it grants metallic purrs at you for your victory.

"Ahhahaha~" Laughing in triumph and exasperation, you breathlessly double over sending a thumbs up toward Saeran, whose brow is ticked in amusement and he nods, lips pressed tight enough not to let his own emotion leak.

Caught up with much needed oxygen, you straighten. You are excited to see, to learn, to think about more than just the past. Apparently, movement would help; a discovery the disciple no doubt made while on the computer last night.

You grin a bit wider at the thought.

But then, you stand up and take your first step in his pants.

Geeze, you know he's got a small waist... but-

"I'm pretty sure your pants are literally inside of me right now." You grunt out with grit, with the elegance of a gorilla.

His walls crumble and he is full out laughing without abandon; its a free, gut-busting chortle that leaves you flustered, without a single care that it's directed at you. It's so childish, so pure that you would bottle it if you could. There isn't a hint of that man's crazed hackling from the mountain trail.

It's so normal. So good. So different.

"Haahh~" He flicks away the moisture from his eyes and sighs. "Well, that's definitely one way to put it."

"I'm... not exaggerating." Widening your gaze in emphasis, you turn a full three-sixty. "Feast your eyes on my misery."

"Pbbtt!" Slipping up he fights to maintain a straight appraising stare and coughs into a curled first. "Mhmm, I see.

You know... I could try to find you something looser if you want?"

"No. No... I fought for this. It'd be cowardly to withdraw from... these... heh." You take another step and almost lose your composure to the grimace. " Actually, no, I take that back. I'm pretty sure I'm trapped and wouldn't be able to get out of them if I tried... So, let's just get going?" Which, isn't a lie and you ARE curious about Paradise and how Magenta works. The need is deep and nagging, where do you fit in? ... How should you fit in?

Running a hand through tinged locks, he shakes his head making a noise between diverted disbelief and reluctant acceptance.

"It's going to be a long walk, you think you can manage?" His eyes look you up and down, puzzling out all your discomforts as he sighs again when you nod rapidly." If you get dizzy, let me know right away." His eyes are so serious as they pin yours in lock.

"Y-yeah... Thanks, I will."

You aren't too worried. Today, you settled for only a couple of drops from the bottle for the headaches and haven't slurped down anything for breakfast. If there's nothing to swish about, there's nothing to nauseate you or make you dizzy. So, you are sure and you are ready.

He walks slow, whipping his head every so often to see you; a great comfort, the further you move through this huge house. There are others milling about, talking in hush tones that make your nerves work overtime and your lungs feel heavy along with a pit in your gut that flops about every time a new set of pupils land on you.

You suppress your shivers but speed up, getting closer to the man that has quickly become your anchor in this sea of strangers and ghost-like echoes. He's still barely an acquaintance himself, but one you feel at least a bit less guarded around.

Side-effect of drugged cuddling?

Desperation for touch?

All of the above? Yeah... Probably. Inebriation always did make you sentimental and clingy. But, the feel of his reliable warmth assuages your wrecked nerves to some degree and it's... Familiar. So you cling, you can't stop.

At some point, you should probably tell him that you're using him... That nagging guilt in the back of your brain is torture, but you keep it to yourself for now. It's enough work trying to keep your breathing in check so you face forward and march, thankful that Saeran doesn't question when you are basically fused into the back of his arm.

"This wing is the personal quarters for our family, little lamb. Many have chosen to bunk in groups and it's stuck, becoming the norm for two or three or four to be sharing space. If you come through here, it's likely you'll run into groups of other disciples or children with their chosen partners."

"...They're just curious." He adds after a few silent steps noticing the stiffness in your features and the way you've all but stopped breathing, in his own low rasp, "You are a new family member, a forged newborn child of Magenta, after all." You nod and sniff, raising from your hunch to full height and forcing a brave face.

You loosen up as frames of beautiful photographs and paintings fill your view with vibrant colors, contrasting drastically against the cleanly white walls. There are sunsets on beaches with turquoise translucent waves lapping at sugar sand so defined, you can almost imagine the grains between your toes and sunrises at parks set behind glowing green leaves and violet petals of flora you aren't sure of the names of... There are animals, people, smiles and clear blue skies and sparse puffy clouds... So many expert brush strokes and keen eyes must have gone into each piece and you are left utterly pacified and speechless.

You hum happily and distracted, hugging the leather-clad arm that both your own are wrapped around.

Oh.

Oh, god.

You freeze, slowly looking up to find that those sage eyes are atop a wicked smirk that immediately sets your face ablaze. God, this is embarrassing when you aren't wrapped up in the snug, loopy hold of the Savior's medicine. But, it's not terrible and he's not shaking you off.

So, that's a plus.

"A-hem!" You cough, backing away but not completely dropping your hold. "Sorry 'bout that."

"Mhmm." You both start walking again, but when exactly did you stop? His gaze lingers on the golden-framed clouds and sky before he turns, leading you down yet another hall. "I like the pictures, too." His voice is much smaller than what you were expecting, but remembering his story from last night you can kind of understand.

Now's not the time to revisit or press. Nodding, you instead examine the passing sights.

Holy shit, this place is huge. Much bigger than you could have imagined. You are winded just by traversing one and a half halls and still have yet to get to where your guide is aiming for.

Well, if the struggle to get zipped up in some tiny pants are any indication, you could use the exercise. You bite the inside of your cheek and try to mask the harsh, ugly winded sounds coming from your nose.

'You'll get used to it,' you keep chanting to yourself in thought. One day, you will get used to all the walking, to all the people, to having some sort of purpose and all of it won't be so draining...

Maybe.

He's still going, but it is likely he's felt your pull on him and he is probably fully aware that your legs aren't willing to cooperate. Among nasally gasps and awe at the decor, you attempt to at least maintain the facade of keeping up.

For the sake of decency, you try.

There are rooms and alcoves coming up. Some doors are wide open, others are shut with only the intricate designs of knockers and knobs to satisfy your curious glances.

"That's an office for higher ranking relatives to meet and discuss politics and integration of Magenta into law of the heathens." Your companion remarks off-hand, then raises his unoccupied arm, pinky and index pointing outward to the other open doors, "Recreation and hobby rooms."

"Wait... What? Politics?" You're still blinking in surprise over that one... Just how much reach do the Children of Magenta have?

"You heard correct~."Saeran hums his answer in sing-song, "Magenta's Eden houses all, from highly influential to mere common folk. Our family is strong, bound to grow and bring peace to the contaminated world and soon most will be accepted into the gates of Heaven.

And that right there is dedicated to charity organizations filled with our family and invitee affiliates."

"You run charities?" Your heart flutters at the notion, happy to be involved in such benevolence.

"Of course. Even if not yet part of our family, even if filthy from sin and contamination, those in need may one day be purified and observed by Magenta and the Watcher of Mint Eye and set onto the path of glory towards our Eden and ultimately Heaven. We must not shun those whom are willing to look towards the light as those poor souls may one day lead us into world peace." He speaks so effortlessly, his conviction evident and oozing from every syllable. It's hard not to get caught up in the ideals as your heart pumps harder the more you listen.

Because, you want to see that kind of world.

You want to be a part of something that great.

You want to help him, to bring the Savior's vision to the ignorant fools that wage war on each other for the ways they choose to honor their faiths, sexual preferences and the color of skin; of all the languages spoken, harmonious silence is better than bloodshed. Helping one another is far superior to stealing and fending for yourself alone.

"...And, you're my assistant. Don't forget." He shoots you a look, it's awed for some reason, and starry. "So 'we' will do all these great things. Not just the savior, other disciples and me. We... All of us, you too."

Biting your lip harder, you hold back the squeal trapped in your throat and look anywhere but at him. He didn't think anything of including you. God, when was the last time anyone thought so much of you?

You certainly don't think that much of yourself.

Are you valuable enough for such high praise? Tasting blood on your tongue, you release your lip and sigh, satisifed with that little twinge. You'll just have try hard enough to deserve it.

Youthful giggles ring out among rapid little footsteps, breaking you from yourself enough to glance up and see cherubic little faces with wide smiles cut from around the corner and run, ducking into the nearest room and closing the doors.

"Not a single word." The disciple side-mouths as you walk past the shut frame muffling shushes.

"I wouldn't dream of it." That is, until a scrappy little girl with miss-matched pigtails bolts from the bend and taps you on the leg.

"'Scuse me, where'd they go?" She whispers as she pants in question through her gapped tooth grin and suspicious shifty eyes.

"Aww! Oh my goodness! That face!" Gushing behind your palm, it's not your proudest moment, but lord those little chubby cheeks and bright blue eyes are killing you! "They're-"

"Don't do it." Saeran mocks zipping his lips and the girl pouts, sticking her tongue out at the man.

If you still had your wallet and bag, everything you owned would probably be hers. Your mouth is so itchy, you feel yourself about to cave.

"They're..." He's scowling at you now and you almost snort when you nod. Bending down as best you can, jeans digging into you enough to limit your movement, you whisper conspiratorially at the little lady, "Hiding."

Her nod is so serious, her little gaze darting up and down the hall before she charges, letting out a squealing war-cry.

"Such a no-nonsense game, huh?"

"Yup." He sounds so distant again, ear-cocked toward the feet pattering about as a door creaks open and tiny shrieks and giggles fill the air. "You know, they are the true jewels of Magenta."

"I've gotta be honest, I didn't expect there to be any kids here." You really didn't. There are so many questions racing through your head at a mile a second, mainly medicine doses and purification procedures for such young ones.

"They are already so pure when they come in. It's so sad to know that some heathen left them to die." He almost spits the words. "Those poor kids... One was found in an alley naked and covered in filth and newspaper as an infant, the rest were taken from foster homes that neglected them letting them starve, using their lives only for a monthly income."

You stumble a little, and he pauses to let you recover a bit. "God... That's horrible."

"Yeah, well... Luckily, our family is wide-reaching. With connections in child protective services and other branches, they have become our children; our youngest brothers and sisters. Together, we will raise them without the visions of hate that they would have been subjected to with the heathens."

You could cry... You aren't going to, but you could. Your chest burns in appreciation as images of those happy and carefree little smiles assault your head. You are so happy that there is some place safe for these children to run, to play, to live...

"We take turns caring for and teaching them, playing with them... It's so good that they came into Eden so young. They won't remember the sinful erratic life they've left behind. They are free to find their own purpose that won't have to include retribution." Dully, your head throbs.

Both of you mull over that thought in silence, the kids' mirth fading out and altogether disappearing as they rushed toward the next location for their games. It's a sad and happy silence that encompasses the space around you and your companion like an aura of nostalgia pining for the best parts of your own childhood.

Throb.

It lasts only as long as it takes for the sunlight to stream through the glass and metal framed french doors and you sigh from the extra warmth out of reflex.

Then, it hits you all at once.

Throb.

Rows upon rows of green settled into plots of rich earth and busy hands tending to the many plants under the bright blue sky in the middle of dense forest. Vines wrap around wire arches in an curling embrace, wind flutters leaves to give you a peek of vibrant vegetables and other things you aren't quite sure about, but are beautiful none-the-less. There are smaller buildings that look detached from the main house off to the sides, one defintely being a shed and the others... You don't know but are pretty sure you're about to find out. Once you close your mouth and find your voice, that is... The sight though... it's so charming.

Throb.

"Whoa." Yes, your eloquence is back, full swing; check.

"We grow most of our own food and medicinal plants here. Behind the lab is our greenhouse for the more finicky plants and the utility shed over there is where we store all the supplies."

"Mhmm." You whip your eyes around to follow his points, "Wait... Did you say 'lab?'"

Throb.

"Oh, are you interested in that sort of thing? We make ointments and salves and vitamins and Magenta's Drops of Eden. The lab is connected to the clinic that I showed you earlier."

Throb.

"Oh, haha, yeah..." You don't remember that...at all. But, with time, you're sure you'll figure it out. "This is all so much. It's nice, but it's a lot to take in." Truthfully, you're starting to get a bit dizzy and your head is starting to beat the same rhythm as your heart. You've been ignoring it for the most part, being curious and all, but much more information will probably split your skull.

Throb. Throb.

"You're not looking too good."

Throb. Throb.

"Yeah, thanks." You grumble, turning from the rays of sunlight to the less abrasive hallway glow, squirming to dislodge the jeans from its riding dig.

Throb. Throb.

"No, not like that. You're pale and shaking. Gah, didn't I tell you to tell me if you felt weird?" It's apparent that he doesn't really expect you to answer as his hands fuss about, finding the best spots to give you more support. "Hold on, I'll help you get back and bring you some lunch."

Throb. Throb.

You groan at that, remembering the awful swishing.

"You need to get used to eating again."

Throb. Throb.

You groan again, caught in between feeling like a petulant child and unworthy of all this help he's providing you... You've been nothing but trouble this whole time.

Throb. Throb.

"If you refuse, I have no choice but to force you to swallow every drop~." Singing his threat, you scuttle through the corridors in record pace. You keep your mouth shut the entire way back.

Throb. Throb.

You're such a bother, you need to stop making it worse.


	27. Chapter 27

Still no call.

Still no sleep.

His brain is buzzing, fried.

Luciel's skin is practically fused into his clothes, his oils having seeped into the tiny fibers the longer he waits and the more he sits. Unable to even nod off for a moment, scared he'll miss a call-back and then not be able to reach the older man AGAIN, the red-head does the only thing he can.

He sits.

He waits.

He dies a little more on the inside when he drags his hand through his hair and it comes back glistening.

He gags.

Okay, no. This has gone too far. His own stink is making him nauseous and there is only so much wet wipes can get rid of.

It's time for a bubble bath!

Seven would laugh but he's quite sure he hasn't the energy for such frivolity. It's not funny that he's sure he wouldn't be able to stand the whole duration of a shower.

Barely can he pick himself up off the floor, his joints pop and muscles give twinges of defiance as he pushes himself up. His head swims and lit black speckles float at the sides of his sight when he stands, but he catches himself with a palm at the wall and stiff, screaming legs shuffle toward his room without too much thought or aim.

Phone loosely tucked in the fingers of his hanging hand, he makes his way through his pitch black sleeping quarters. It's freshly cleaned, so there's no need to worry about tripping. But the distinct difference between the lemony freshness and his own body odor is noxious, and once more, he fights off the bile in his convulsing throat.

He strips as best he can, letting his pants and boxers fall down his legs and around his ankles, taking enough initiative to at least pick up his feet to step out of the puddle of discarded rags. His jacket gets shrugged out of with a little difficulty and he topples a bit when he's forced to let go of his hold on the wall and as he discards the nearly stiff shirt when he peels it up over his head, he almost lands on his ass.

His glasses are now thoroughly covered in cloud and grease, askew on his face when he finally hobbles into the en suite bathroom and flicks on the light. Luciel's reflection stares back at him, a stranger with oil-wet spikes that stand and flop so saturated he almost looks brunette. Bags that puff out, bruised and swollen beneath dull half-lidded amber eyes, make him look like a mugging victim.

He shudders, plucking off his striped spectacles and unceremoniously plopping them on the counter and setting his phone in place right next to them. Leaning onto the counter and closer to the mirror, he slaps both cheeks multiple times, hard enough to leave clear red shocks of the hills and valleys of the offending digits blossoming onto his pallid skin.

He needs to wake up.

He needs to fill the tub.

He needs to find some shampoo.

He needs to scrub away the grime and he needs to NOT smell like he does right now.

Important.

VERY important.

The tap squeals as water rushes out, thrumming into the empty tub like a drumbeat meant to entice his weary soul, and, it's working. Lifting the little metal handle, the water warms and pools inside the basin and he grabs the first bottle of soapy liquid he can find, squirting in much more than is probably necessary. Mixing with the tap's falls, bubbles begin to form and multiply and soon the scent of passion fruit and cream starts to take precedence over the pungent stink of the exhausted, dirty man.

He steps in, vaguely aware of the stinging in his toes and up his calves or the scalding of his ass cheeks and upward, his focus mainly on the feel of water sloshing against his slick flesh and the disturbing way the liquid begins to shine in holo like an ocean during an oil spill and the way the bubbles recede from his submerged body, repelled. Luciel shudders again, grabbing his loofah with purpose and squeezing out more soap to wash with.

He scrubs and scrubs until his skin is a raw pruned pink and his hair is squeaky. The bubbles are all but non-existent by the time he is done and in their place floats rolled slugs of dead skin and excess body slime.

With a swat downward, the water level lowers, until all that is left is a whirlpool of crud and a ring around the tub as he stands, letting droplets drip down his frame.

All of this and still not a single call.

What the fuck is Luciel to do?

Can he be sure he'll wake up if V decides to finally make his move? Or should he stay up and wait?

But if he stays up, there is no telling whether or not he'll even be useful if the older man says that Luciel's assistance is needed.

He sighs, wet hair sticking to his face as he lets the still air dry his form.

God, just what is he doing with his life?


	28. Chapter 28

Ugh...

This isn't going well. Not at all.

Back in his boxer shorts, you curl into the plush blankets and grip your stomach and head simultaneously. The medicine is working enough to keep you warm, but it's making you even more lightheaded than you can handle.

The room is spinning, but you squeeze in tighter, ball up more. Holding back the sick that is trying desperately to force it's way outside of your body.

You hate this. Why can't you stop being so pathetic? Why can't you not waste food or trouble Saeran any more than you already have? You don't want to make him witness you in such a state, huffing and sweating over a toilet bowl. He took the time to bring you a mug of delicious creamy chowder and sat with you, rubbing your back and coaxing you to down every last drop.

You don't want to repay his kindness by rejecting it; don't want to subject him to babying you when it is you whom should be helping him...

You're hopeless.

Even now, he's dabbing away whatever sweat he can get to on your clammy forehead, humming that song that is easing your nerves enough that your mind is free enough to think about not blowing chunks. Is this worth it?

Are you worth this much trouble to him?

You scoff, messy and lippy, almost like a cough. There is no way caring for you like this is advantageous to him or anyone else in any way.

You've done nothing to prove yourself to this familial group of greats. You have nothing more to offer than being this disgraceful, defunct pet.

Fire-tinged hair falls past his eyes as he bends down, closer to your balled up form and he slides his body behind yours, setting aside the damp cloth. Fingertips comb through the tangles in your locks, stroking along your scalp in slow treads that you lean into.

You know you don't deserve his comforting touches, but you crave them just as much as the drops of Eden. He is addictive. A shudder tingles across your skull and down your spine in heated waves as his digits work your temple in gentle circles.

The disciple doesn't speak beyond the tune, he doesn't rush you, doesn't ask questions that you can't think about or answer. He's just here, watching over you, carrying you when you can't walk, finding ways to pacify you when you just... can't anymore.

Your throat burns as bad as your eyes and chest. You can't cry. You can't give him more to worry about.

You aren't entitled to such compassion.

You want him to stop.

But you don't.

"I'm sorry." You croak out in a hiccup, "I can't even eat right..."

"Shhh, shut your mouth..." He swipes the bangs from your face and goes back to those delightful circles, "You can't help it. S'okay."

"You do too much for me." The words aren't much more than a breath, but he catches it, hands pausing only slightly before you feel his forehead on the back of your crown.

"Yeah, 'cause I want to. You won't push me away, will you?" He's being so quiet, probably so he doesn't upset the iffy balance you've found in your equilibrium... You can't believe his words. Why would anyone want to-

"Liar." It's out there. You just couldn't help yourself, could you? You're so ungrateful, you should be ashamed.

"Nope~, I'm not this time around. But I'm wondering, does 'liar' mean 'stop' because if it does, we need to have a serious sit-down conversation about your choice and use of safe-words, lamb." His words puff against your scalp, slow and low, his hand never stopping those ministrations and for that, you are so glad.

You still can't trust that someone would willingly give so much of themself to you without wanting in return... you can't allow yourself to fall into that kind of complacency.

Too dangerous.

But for now, you sigh, forcing calming thoughts to your turbulent stomach and hoping that this will pass quickly.

You can't keep wasting his time like this.


	29. Chapter 29

Waking to the dull flashing lights and darkness, you search out the bottle, hands and fingers trembling as they bunch along the crumpled sheets until they meet cool plastic and you swat at it listlessly, dragging it back to your curled form. You hug it to your chest, the cold slap of water and medicine chills along your tips and palms as you will your parched throat to open enough to breathe.

There's a heaviness upon your chest, a heat along your back and a tepid breeze forcing loose strands of your hair to tickle at your neck, but right now, you don't want to think about that. You just want to get the screams from your nightmares from your head. You want to shrug away the blunt force that taunts your muscles and limbs, ghosts from the past unrelenting in their replay.

You fidget, trying desperately to yank up the spout and knuckle your upper lip in the process. Not minding it, you try again, managing to lift the thing and you gulp.

And gulp.

Not thinking, you run on need. Right now, you need to shut out all of those memories; the sounds, the smells, the tastes and the pain. They're too much. You can't handle it right now.

You gulp down another mouthful before palming the top down. Lips trembling, you press them into a tight line.

How many times do you need to see all these things? Isn't living through it all enough.

You KNOW.

YOU ALREADY FUCKING KNOW!

You are well aware of your mistakes, your misgivings, your personal faults... Everything.

Nasally breaths are coming quicker, so you hold your breath, hoping, waiting for the drugs to kick in and your brain to just shut up.

The warmth along your back shifts and your are fully encompassed in it, eyes screwed shut you will the tears to stay away.

"Hey." Husky and deep, a voice calls for your attention, but you can't. You can't open your eyes or your pride will be nothing but a farce. Instead, you inhale but it's more of a sniffle.

You've woken him up. He hasn't been sleeping much at all and you just broke him from precious REM for this silly, pointless scene.

Always such a pain.

A whine dies in your neck as you re-try to regulate your breathing and the arm slung around you pulls you tighter into the skin-silk heat of muscles and soap-tamed musk.

"Thanks for waking me up." You flinch at that sleep-gritty tone as once again he speaks. "I was remembering some pretty shitty things... Thank you."

"Hmm..." It's squeaky, but it's all you can manage to let him know you heard him.

Ever since you got over the initial nausea from lunch and he forced you into a tub so you could relax, he made you promise to talk to him. To open for him. He practically begged you to respond to him when he speaks. You know you owe him at least that much.

"You are precious to me, little lamb. You are my responsibility, my charge... Mine until you choose your own purpose, your own way." You let his words echo trying not to shiver as you recall the feel of his hands expertly massaging your roots, lathering up your hair and scrubbing at your back; helping you regain your sanity through hot water and cleansing bubbles. You try not to to reminisce inappropriately at the memory of the water as it splashed outside of the tub when he entered it behind you to have a better reach.

You focus on his words and the way he's speaking right now, how hurt he seems.

"I was in the field outside my childhood home, so scared that she would come back. It was the first time I ever saw the clouds darken that much and lightning spark through them as if they were glass, shattering in the sky." He muses thickly against your nape. "That sight reminded me of when she would break her empty wine bottles and yell her loudest."

The images play through your mind like a movie amid a foggy backdrop. Ringing of your own distasteful recollections nothing but a dull buzz as you think about that poor, scared little boy caught between natural storm and unnatural hateful demonstrations from the one he should have been able to trust the most.

"Was your brother... there for that?" Knowing his brother is a sore spot, you kind of hope he was there for him, but at the same time, you don't. Because would that mean the memory is that much more painful for him? You don't want that. If only you could go back in time. If only you knew the poor sweet boy... You wish you could have done something to take him from that deep hurt.

"Yeah. But in the dream, he just stood there. He didn't say anything, didn't look at me. He just stood there, watching as the dark clouds rolled and ravaged themselves, cracking and crackling, not caring if I stayed or ran back home." He sighs and that morphs into a yawn. "It's frustrating, I kept wanting to reach for him in the dream. But every time I did, he was out of my grasp before I could even process the feel of his clothes in my grip..."

"You... Are you sure you want to kill him?" The question is slow to come out, but as you relax further into his hold, you let it escape. "Could it be that maybe you just want to know why he did it?"

There's a rumbling so deep in his chest that you can feel it in vibrate your shoulder blades.

"He has to die. He does, and V... They both have to, they are all that is left of my filthy childhood and I will do everything in my power to see it done with my own two hands." In his statement, there is a warning for you not to delve further, not to question any more, but in your state, you ignore it. You ignore it, because you don't know when to quit. You don't know anything.

"But why? It's terrible and unforgivable what you've gone through. No child should have to witness or feel the types of horror you did... But why do you have to kill. You are so good... So pure... Why would you have to stain your gentle hands with blood." You have to pause every few words to keep from stumbling and stuttering through, but you have to let him know what you think, thanks to the liquid induced bravery and lack of inhibitions racing through your bloodstream.

"I'm not nice." He snorts and huffs, his tone biting but you laugh a little in spite of it.

"You are."

"They'll die, and it'll be because of me."

"Why don't you at least get their sides of the story?" Vaguely, you know you are treading on thin ice, breaking into interrogation zone, but you are enjoying the fact that he is answering you.

"Why would I listen to the tales of liars and frauds? They hurt me, walked away from me at my lowest and dare to live happily, forgetting that I exist! How else am I supposed to show them I'm alive when all they've done is shut away everything I was, leaving me to fend against death itself. They left me to die, little one. You know how that feels, don't you?" His hold is jittering against your skin and you take a moment to hand him the bottle and rub circles against the knuckles of the arm trapped around your torso with your thumb.

"It's because you are alive that you should do it. It's because you are better that you shouldn't have to stoop." Since when have you been so dashingly philosophical, hmm? But... It fits him, so you let your stance stay, lingering in the dark room as the water bottle swishes behind you and pops as the top is pushed back down.

"I... I can't." He headbutts you in the back of the head but it's light and his voice seems so... fragile. "It's my purpose to destroy them both... It's what I've been training myself for since even before the day I was... saved..."

"... Okay." You sigh again, settling deeper into his hold and the blanket cocoon that has formed around you both. "I'm here to help you any way I can, but I just want you to know that you can always change your mind. You are so much more than a tool to murder, y'know..."

He's already fallen asleep again, you're pretty sure. He's made no sounds or movements since last he spoke and you aren't even aware of whether or not he heard what you said. But that's okay, you'll give him your support whenever he needs and re-speak those words as often as you can.

The tugs at your own consciousness are pretty strong and soon you are drifting in tender heat, rhythmic breath and white noise guiding you through the darkness and into comforting empty fog, like a lullaby.


	30. Chapter 30

So good.

So damn good.

Biting into the still-warm bread, you let it sit in your mouth as the steam heats your face and the morsel dances over your taste faintly sweet aroma of butter and spice tantalizes your senses, seducing another growl to lurch from your stomach.

Food.

Solid food.

The moans pour from your every bite, every chew until the buzzing is background singer to your blissful cacophony.

Lips clamped shut, Searan watches your interaction with the tiny dinner roll in utter amusement. He contains it proficiently enough, but a little snort betrays his conviction giving way to the harsh contractions in his lungs.

You couldn't care less, even when he openly snickers at you and your god-awful moans of satisfaction.

Not at all.

Because this moment is a cause for celebration and you have every single intention to bask, thoroughly enjoying the first chew-necessary meal you've been able to have since being here.

Getting over those first few days of nausea and barely even being able to hold down the medicine had been a serious struggle. The sloshing, the terrible weight distribution and the dizziness that resulted from it all. But even worse was the poor man at your side being forced to care for your gross self when you either puked or sweated so bad trying to hold it down.

God, this bread is so good.

That moment though... That moment that broths became a little welcome treat and you were able to sip them, to truly taste every delicate flavor and could walk to and fro without issue; that moment was just as delicious as this roll.

Bliss.

This delicacy.

You shall cherish every hot and fluffy nibble.

"Should I leave and give you two a moment or something?" You peek through pleasure-closed lids to see Searan standing there with your plate of other steaming foods in one hand and his own in the other.

Both eyes open and lustfully gazing at the plate, you take another bite as he sets your meals on the bed.

"Mmm Mmmm haah~." He's still staring, a quirk in his brow as you maybe over-embellish your satisfaction and attempt to recover by sending him and awkward wink.

"Pfft!" Chuckling shortly at your failed attempt, he plops down picking up his own divine breadliness, "Please don't ever do that again." Sighing in good humor, he drinks from the bottle before passing it to you and taking a bite.

You accept it gratefully, letting it wash down the rest of the crumbs and allowing the Savior's medicine work it's magic, heightening this enjoyment.

This comfort.

It's been so many days since you left your old life in search for something other than the same daily numbness that your old life provided. So many days since the disciple came into your life and swept you away to this grand mansion in the mountains.

You don't care to count how many. You don't ever care about going back.

As you sit here, eating in the company of this kind and sassy man, surrounded by the laughs you've shared and the tears that's been shed within this bubble of drug induced pleasantness...

Why should you miss the loneliness, the cold... The numb?

You take your first forkful of fresh carrots, and your eyes roll at the flavor. That kind of flavor that you wouldn't have been able to taste in your old life. Looking across from you, Searan's movements are so careful, so pristine for eating dinner on bed and you find yourself smiling, really smiling as you watch him, heat swelling in your chest, most likely from the medicine, but you enjoy it. You nurture it.

Even as you bite into your cheek, letting the taste of blood coat the foodbits upon your tongue.

You are working hard to deserve this.

But, you can't get too greedy.

"And not a single crumb on your lips, god. I'm amazed." You laugh, honestly astonished. "I've served gentlemen at diners with worse etiquitte than you."

The disciple blushes a bit, almost coughing and he looks away, using his loose hand to cover his mouth with a napkin.

"Such good manners~." You tease a little, taking another bite.

"God, stop~." Whining, he flushes a little more, but smirks into his own forkful, roll down for the count.

You've been making sure to do this ever since that night. You want him to know he's so much more than someone who could kill two people. He's worth more than two lost lives. No matter how terrible.

You want him to know how you see him. So, you flatter him, sprinkling fun into observed truths.

Hopefully that will be enough... For exactly what, you aren't sure. But you still hope.

He's given you a reason to begin even thinking of that word again. Looking into that intense yet soft sage gaze, as he chews, you smile and swallow.

He follows suit, clearing his mouth his lips tick downward in the barest of frowns.

"You're bleeding again." Sighing, his thumb is at the corner of your lip, whisking the traces away before you can even process what's been said.

And then, it hits you.

Shit.

"It's nothing, really. I just bit my cheek when I was chewing too quickly." You try to brush it off, but he's not having any of it, brow quirking at your fib.

"Please don't lie to me." The look he gives you, you can almost feel your heart shattering. He's had his fill of liars and you are just adding to the mix. Really, though, this is nothing. "Look... This isn't the first time, either... I've noticed, the way you bit your lips, the reason the scabs on your arms haven't been healing... Just, tell me... You can tell me anything, right? I won't judge. I just want to hear it from you."

"It's not something I can talk about so easily, you know? There's never really a perfect time to bust out this topic." Wiping your mouth, trying in vain to hide the evidence that's already been spotted, you inhale deeply. Closing your eyes, you will yourself to talk. To say anything that will calm him down.

Anything?

You keep coming up blank because, what else is there to say? Your reason is stupid and God, you do not want to repeat the cringeworthy bullshit that runs through your mind. Exhaling, you open your eyes to see that his stare hasn't gone away and you shrink a little, pushing away the plate for something to do with your hands other than fiddling with the sheet.

"I'm ..." He's all ears and knitted brows, you have to look away. "I'm just not comfortable unless I have something balance my feelings... I honestly don't know what to tell you... It's really, really nothing."

"...And the scars on your arms?" You open your mouth to assure him that the rope cuts are healing, but he clears his throat and cuts that notion right off. "...The ones that were beneath the scabs. Are those just from balancing your feelings?"

You bit your lip again, but he's quick to lift your chin and physically remove it with the pad of his digit.

"No more. I know it's not as bad as what it used to be, but tell me, talk to me, if I can help you stop, I will." It's his turn to glance away and he does beautifully, red lashes fanning across ivory before he stares into you again, dilated pupils pulling you into those sage pools. "Seeing you do this to yourself hurts... I know you aren't doing much right now... but still."

"Its not that easy."

"I know." He lets go of you, a huff drawn out of his lungs as his tips busy unsnapping the spike studded leather bands around his wrists, he lets them fall into the crook of his knee. "I might be a bit of a hypocrite by asking that of you... But, I know."

Grooves of lifted white scar tissue and dull pink divets top each other, overlapping in a non-pattern that makes the air drain from your chest. Seeing this on the man you've grown so fond of, so close to... It... It really does hurt. It hurts worse than anything you could ever do to yourself.

The tears burn in your throat as you tear your gaze away to look at him.

"I'll try if you do. But..." The sentence drags on, hanging in the air unfinished.

"We'll figure it out, little lamb."

You want to hug him, hold him, keep him close to you just to make sure he's still here, still real. But, you are frozen, watery vision wavering as you just allow yourself to drink in the sight of him.

Is there really a way? Can you both really figure this out?

Are you going to be able to do this... You know... without disappointing him?

Stop it.

You suck up those tears the best you can, making damn sure they don't fall and do the only thing you can.

You smile and you nod.


	31. Chapter 31

"Have you come to feed me more lies, V?" Hair blowing in the little breeze the small window allows, Rika's features remained unmoved as if carved from marble. Emerald eyes staring vacantly out at the tops of trees and clouds as they pass through vast blue and cut by rich golden rays.

Teal locks whip about as his fingertips draw lines in the prickly, painted structure, on the outside, beneath her station. He'd followed the feel upon his skin, the scent within the air and found himself here, with her in the now. His mouth flaps, unable to choose his words as he fights against himself not to pull himself into that frame or to take her into his arms.

This Rika... She wouldn't...

"I only want to know that you're safe, Rika... I want for you to truly consider all of this," his hand grips at the wall, closing on it, scraping upon it, "Sooner or later they will find it and everything you've done will crush you. I want you to stop, to return all to their families so that you can escape that fate..."

"My family is happy. I have created this family not to be afraid of contaminated laws of a people that thrive in their own misery. V, you never did understand. Never could. You never will." She sighs, a sound of finality within that soft whisper of breath. "Why do you keep coming back? Your words, your actions... everything about you disturbs the contented balance I've striven for. Yet you kill me off, you block my invitations to once-dearest friends, you deny my existence and than barrage me with demands. 'I want, I want...' it's exhausting speaking with you."

"My love I-"

"'I want'? No. Here I am fulfilling God's work, ushering his children into Eden and Heaven, purified and happy, as was his intent and you are steadily trying to ruin it!" Her voice raises only little but the words are sharply spoken, not a syllable sloppy or slurred. "You speak of love, and yet by your own words I'm dead. Your lies, your nonsense... I can't seem to push you away but I want you gone. You know that, don't you... V."

"They're dying, Rika."

"They're ascending unto Heaven, emotionally sound and surrounded by family." Brows knitted tightly, she leans over the frame, delicate palms chilled by the smooth surface as she pleas on behalf of Eden's departed.

"Officials are on the trail, my love. It won't be long until they find you, find everything and break it. They'll destroy everything. You should release them. Let them go to their families, allow them to live amongst the ones that miss them." His voice cracks, he's getting desperate for her to hear his every word, to take heed and run. To let him help her when the armor that is Mint Eye and Magenta cracks. V's reaching for something, anything... Anything that can help him get to her. The one that he sent away. The one that only he can awaken.

He feels it.

He knows it's true.

Because as deeply rooted as she is in him, Rika is a part of his soul.

Just as he is a part of hers.

"They choose to live within Magenta's walls. None are captive here. Don't speak as if you know their wishes!" She scoffs, before straightening, her breath a deliberate slow. "Just more lies from the mouth of a sinner." Rika whispers, tapping only thrice with bored fingers before turning away. Her footfalls are quiet, but the teal-haired man beyond the window's pane hears every last one as if each is unraveling the stitches holding him together.

It started in death of a past life. Her spirit's beautiful glow. She attracted him, pulled at his awareness and even though they couldn't touch, the promises they made bound them together.

He hadn't noticed how she dimmed so... That doesn't matter. She is still her, no matter which attribute takes hold.

He can't fall apart now. He can't let her cut herself way.

It hurts.

But, he deserves it. She can blame him. Hate him. Harm him. Just... Just please, don't leave him with a gaping hole of where she used to be.


	32. Chapter 32

People, crowds... eyes that stare and mouths that whisper into others' willing ears... They are just not your type of thing, okay?

Even though you know they are just curious of you and mean no harm, you still find it difficult to properly converse with the other believers, often having to abort mission due to panic attacks even before you've adequately approached.

The disciple has seen your struggles, often offering you a sip from the bottle and to go grab something warm from the kitchens to snack on. How fast he's caught onto the minute details! You have never been able to recover so quick. Not even on your own and YOU know YOU...

For the most part.

Instead of your continuous fails with the adult-breed, you have found yourself and your focus gravitating more and more toward the cute petite makeshift classrooms filled with miniature chairs and the smell of chalk dust where the scritching squeaks of markers play at your ears and bright cartoonish depictions of nature donning friendly smiles look down upon you.

The little laughs and shrieks and childish squabbles are an atmosphere of their very own; they ease you away from yourself and allow you not to think. No pressure, whether fabricated or reality, is pressing at you and what minuscule amount arises can be quickly diminished through sneaked-in treats or messy water colors coating chubby hands and paper in splotches.

And, it doesn't hurt that you notice Saeran, always close behind on your excursions, either watching in well-timed curious peeks from the doorway or even joining in on the semicircle that spreads out upon the floor when you crack open a book and begin reading.

Your favorite moments, though... Those are the moments when you 'force' the disciple to join in, catching his moody pouts as he eyes you handing lollipops into paint-slick hands, a promise of his own gifted sweet only if he makes a pretty picture.

Those scowls speak for themselves, you smile to yourself as you wipe away a strand of hair that's stubbornly sticking to your forehead.

"I'm not a kid."

"Eww, no... Don't talk to me like that... It's creepy."

You cover a chuckle. It's always like that and you are kind of glad for it, because maybe it means you both are close enough not to just show the best of yourselves to each other. But, even better still, he comes in and goes along with it, mouth muscles putting in effort to keep his lips in frowny check even when the flush dusting his cheeks betray him.

Just like right now.

He is grumbling, locks of tinted hair curtain his downward scowling face as his mouth works silent curses toward the paper. Jagged outlines of purple form the adorable figure of a bear that he diligently fills in with mustard yellow and periwinkle blue for its paw pads, belly and eyes.

You can't help but bite your lip before you let an "awwww!" slip out again. You don't want him to stop coloring and you don't want to startle the little brunette boy that's holding out a pallet for you to fill with finger paints.

Your heart flutters and you want to laugh.

It's not because of his choice in crayons or the shaky looking lines.

No.

It's because he is so focused. He's giving a death glare, but the tiniest curve at his lips show you how much he's enjoying himself despite his complaints, fake or otherwise.

It's because he looks so innocent, pure... and big, surrounded by these fun-dirtied children with stains on their clothes and grins bigger than your last paycheck as he lays propped up on his elbows.

He looks so happy. Not talking about murder, not thinking about his own childhood, the purpose he's made for himself or your shared issues with pain and need. It feels like you both are no longer stagnating.

No.

Right now, he's taking back a piece of himself that used to be empty and black and turning it into something that maybe he can look back on and reminisce, with a smile just like the one he's trying to so hard to hide right now.

You want to bask in this feeling.

You want this to last; this warmth, this lightheartedness, this carefree jubilance.

It's not that simple... you know that.

It never is.

But you'll try.


	33. Chapter 33

Work.

Piles of papers, spread out an waiting to be leafed through, documented and filled in. Sticky notes plague the edges of every monitor depicting all the other little tidbits that need to be revisited.

All this on top of learning enough of another language to do everything correctly.

Background checks and schedule monitoring, getting in touch with the plant. All these things just to keep Luciel from going mad waiting for a single call.

He probably shouldn't have accepted these assignments. He could have coasted for another day or so, but he needed something to distract his mind from the mysteries of Mint Eye and your disappearance.

He was desperate.

Maybe a little too desperate.

In his rush, he hadn't listened at all during briefing, wanting just to get started. He'd ran his fingers through his hair, knee bouncing faster and faster until the moment the talking stopped and he could run out with the dockets at his pits for the freedom of his car.

This client, though.

"Haah~." Sighing, he risks the close of his eyes and a clench of the jaw. "Why didn't I listen?" The whine is to himself, but it echos through the PC room and living area.

A forged peace treaty document complete with transcriptions in exact replication of members of congressional party and doctored video? God... He's a bit in over is head, that is... If he doesn't lose it at the end of this.

Do a good job, probably die.

Do a bad job, most likely die.

Not the best statistics for something that was supposed to be a simple distraction.

Even worse, he hasn't made any headway. Luciel keeps staring at the phone as if it will start ringing at any given second and if he looks away, he won't get to  
it in time.

That's not the case. He knows it isn't. If anything, he answers every single call if he's expecting one.

This is frustrating.

Finally tearing his eyes away, he promptly lets his head fall to the desk making the empty cans clank and topple around him like at trashbin halo.

How can someone be so smart and so incredibly dumb at the same time?

This won't end well for either route and Luciel can't help anyone if he's dead. He can't save anyone if he doesn't exist in the first place.

"Fuck~."


	34. Chapter 34

**A/N** _Still jet lagged and exhausted and sick, to boot! I'm sorry to have been away for so long. I hope my super post was enough to tide you all over?_

He's here.

Always here.

Saeran's watched your small interactions here and there, from farther and farther away as the days passed on.

You'd do the same every time; straighten your back, fix your face into some mask of indifference that would do surprisingly well to hide the panic you felt inside and you would walk.

Stiffly.

You would get to whichever group you'd have targeted for the day, introducing yourself with a small voice that wavered and more hand gestures than you had ever made when speaking with him.

A nervous tick?

It's cute.

And it kind of pisses him off.

The conversation would never last for long and you would trek back, shaking with adrenaline, goosebumps along your skin and a smile stretched so wide, far too big for your face.

A bit unsettling, really. Even for him.

But, he'd be near, there for you as you'd walk in silence beside him back to the same room he now sits, alone and back in front of monitors, cooling systems and fans abuzz as he types in peck, fingers mostly in slack against keys, mind on you rather than the text bar blinking in his toward.

The way that you'd try and hold your breath until you both reached this room has been a clear indicator; the tears that would gather in your vision to the point that you would lean into his body, your warmth a welcome weight against his own as he would guide you into this safe place.

A place for you that Saeran has made so you can just be you.

You would crumple, knees finally giving way to the electric tremors and nerves as finally you would exhale and blink, breaking the wall and letting the hot, wet salt cascade down your cheeks as you would gulp helplessly for air that wouldn't seem to fill your lungs properly.

He's here. He's been here.

"I don't... I can't do this to you anymore, Saeran." That thick voice cutting through your wheezing gasps echo within, catastrophic to his train of thought as the disciple stares, unseeing at the technology glowing softly in this darkened room. "I-I feel like... I'm using you."

His chest constricts once again, heavy and sharp as he remembers how you struggled so desperately just to speak to him. Even worse still was the broken look you gave him from within the confines of his hold, lips trembling as your features shone with sweat, tears and a little dribble of snot.

"It's like you're my crutch and... It's not okay and... God, I'm so sorry... I'm the worst... I can't keep leaving it to you to pick up my pieces.

I'll get my shit together. I'll do whatever I can to get used to the others and find something I can do. Being your assistant can't happen until I know everything I need to about this place and where to find anything you might need."

'It's okay, though...'

'I don't mind it.'

'Shut your mouth, it's fine.'

'You don't have to do that.'

'It's my duty to care for you.'

'Quit thinking stupid thoughts.'

Maybe he should have said one or two of those lines instead of just tightening his hold, pressing a cheek into your hair, too frozen and wordless to be of genuine help. Maybe he should have called you back when you ventured out on your own this morning, catching the latent dread in your eyes as you smiled thinly, ducking out with all the strength you could muster.

He's here.

But his thoughts are there, with you.

What is it that you're doing right now? Are you still holding together? Who are you speaking to? Are you learning from them?

No good.

Fuck.

This isn't good at all.

Saeran has the time now to contact the new tester-target; has the ability to grant entry into that apartment and find a way to re-code the security so that he can recover precious documents for the Savior. The disciple has the means to rip the R.F.A to shreds, to expose the liars and call the innocents into Magenta's Eden...

But, there is a fire within his chest that aches worse the longer you are away, burning hotter the more he mulls over your interactions with the other disciples and children.

He is supposed to be your mentor.

He is supposed to care for you.

It is supposed to be him that you count on...

And yet, he's here. Alone, in this dimly flashing room of blue and buzz.

This.. This should be fine, right? You are doing this for the family. The Savior will be pleased with this knowledge, with whom you are taught isn't an issue. He's fulfilled his task, nurturing you as you healed, filling in the gaps of Magenta's teachings...

You are still to be his assistant; still his charge... He knows you will return at the end of the day...

It should be fine.

It is fine.

But god does he hate everything about this.

Sitting at the edge of his desk, within a finger's reach, the bottle sits half empty and Saeran eyes the thing, half full and bending the light of his screens. Digits scratching at the protruding buttons at his tips and knee bouncing faster and faster still, he contemplates the option he's been denying himself for little over an hour now...

Fuck it.

Grabbing the cool plastic, the contents slop about at the sides before he's out of his chair and then out of the room. He can't think straight or do anything right when all his mind will allow is 'what ifs' and 'who.'

He wants to see with his own eyes. Wants to witness who you are conversing with and about what. This burning in his chest just won't go away no matter how hard he tries on his own and it's that burning that forces his feet to move faster, his legs to swing wider, making the best of his stride to take him where you said you'll be.

The kitchen.

Admittedly, he's never spent much time in the place aside from grabbing a quick bite or a few reheated meals at odd hours. Never had he needed to think on which people have taken on the task of cooking.

Never had he needed to visit the classrooms or really observed these halls and people as much as he has lately in your company. He's always had his own room to study and improve his skills; always been focused on his purpose and only that. The Savior was fine with that; wanted it that way, even.

Never has he felt this kind of flame-like feeling in his breast aside from that which spurred his learning code and computer programming feeding his determination to bring down those that had wronged him.

It's so different and yet so similar.

So damn uncomfortable.

Frames and paints and colors blur in peripheral as he speeds through corridors and around corners, irritations just outside the rim of the disciple's tunnel vision.

Just a little further, only a few more steps.

A creak of the door whines weakly as it opens at his push and he stops, frozen momentarily as finally he spots you.


	35. Chapter 35

Sshk. Sshk.

The knife still gleams beneath fluorescent light and potato slime as you peel your thirty-third in silence. You watch the movement of the blade and the dexterity of your own fingers, mind drifting in and out of vivid reality.

Sshk. Sshk.

It's so sharp. Barely do you have to press for the rough casing to fall away as if you had nothing to do with the process.

Sshk. Sshk.

Vaguely, you are aware that the others have finished their tasks and filtered out one by one earlier, leaving you to your own devices... You're alone. And the ease of this metal is... It's alluring.

Just how easy would it be to drop the root from your tips and let that well-sharpened instrument glide across your skin? How soon into your drag would it finally begin to bury itself into to meat of your flesh? An inch, a half?

A tickling sting, maybe... One that burns with the addition of the thick juices that coat your fingers and work to hide the brilliance of this knife beneath the light, dulling its glint.

Sshk. Sshk.

They aren't here now, but it's almost funny how easy it is for you to do the things asked of you. Asking for something to help with hadn't gone as great, but having a directive made responding much easier.

The only reason having jobs hadn't been affected by your crippling anxiety in the past. It's all basically the same script.

Say the same things and they will be satisfied.

Do what you are told and they will believe you to be competent.

Ask only what is pertinent to your task and you will have spoken to another, like an actual human.

Sshk. Sshk.

You're falling back into your old habits, even when you vowed to change.

You are hopeless. Nothing will ever change for you. See, you already have a system. You know what to expect when you use it... you are too afraid to divert.

You are a coward.

Your lungs pull in a slow rhythm, eyes both focused and not on the knife as you undress the vegetable in your hand, twirling it around on an axis.

Sshk. Sshk.

Thirty-four, down.

One more to go. You set the finished spud into the large bowl of salted water and reach for the next, plucking it from the granite prep-top.

Sshk. Sshk.

So easy.

It's so easy to just sit here, allowing yourself not words, but a busy silence. No sounds fill your ears but the slicing grate that sets tingles upon your scalp and the blood rushing, pumping internally that floods your hearing.

Sshk. Sshk.

This lull, this kind of peace... It's exactly what you've been trying to run from for days... And yet again, here you are. You can't seem to escape. You can't break from who you are, no matter how many times you try to connect. There is no good in forcing yourself onto others...

You know this better than most.

But you are doing exactly that with him.

You are pushing your way in, bashing at his walls rudely and making Saeran take the brunt of your breakdowns.

Sshk. Sshk.

He takes the full force and you let him. Because being around him makes you feel good. Because feeling his touch helps to make you forget and since he's already seen you at your worst, your claws have dug so deep that you have claimed him like some sort of possession.

Like a scratching post to vent out all of your frustrations and errant emotions.

Like a crutch for you to lean on to stay upright when all you feel like doing is falling to the floor to bask in your insecurities and cracks.

You've been using him like a shield.

You're disgraceful.

Sshk. Sshk.

On an exhale, you deposit the last potato, letting the oblong thing sink into the water with the rest and you set down the knife hesitantly, allowing the handle to pass your fingers fully before lifting your hand away.

They've shown you around this kitchen, your second tour and now you know where to take your prepped dish rather than just sneaking in for sweets. So, auto-pilot kicks in as you shuffle through, your haul in tow even if you aren't really seeing much.

Before you realize it, you've cleared away the peelings and have wiped down the counter, blade back in hand as water is running along the utensil and your digits.

In the sink, no one would notice, right?

A small line through some fingerprints would be fine, right? It could be passed off as an accident, just a tiny flub-up in the kitchen isn't really so unthinkable.

But you promised.

That blade is so sharp, the cut would barely even be visible.

You promised him.

You feel so damn numb right now. You need something, anything to take it away. To take all of it away for even just a second. It wouldn't be a serious injury. Never is. Just enough to feel.

You gave him your word.

You press just a little. Not enough to break skin, but it is enough to allow yourself perceive the cool metal, how it warms at the slight of your flesh and the little river that cascades down the length splashing at you in laughable trickles.

Just a little harder, a tiny bit more and you'd feel the sting.

Just a little further and you'd soil that promise for a mere moment of beaded blood and temporary satisfaction.

You let it drop with a clank and slap at the faucet ceasing it's flow.

Collapsing in front of a sink is pretty fucking pathetic but it's just the kind of the thing that happens when you don't want to deal with the frustration. You let yourself fall. You glare. You sometimes cry a bit.

This isn't one of those times.

Just as the thought passes, there are arms around your waist and a hot, panicked breath of words tickling at your ear.

"Thank you." You know that voice, that scent. "God, thank you for remembering."

As glad as you are that he is here, you hate that once again he is the one bearing your weight. But gratefully, you take in the medicated liquid in gulps when the plastic spout kisses at your lips.


	36. Chapter 36

Droning, monotonous.

On and on.

Ms. Vanderwood's voice is a deep sea without waves, no currents to sweep through, livening the excitement that is learning the minuscule nuances of professional foreign language. Even though the maid is speaking Luciel's own words while the man himself is busy profiling personal patterns and creating images of officials in high detail, tweaking the jaw and lips and eyebrows and skin for common expressions and word formation... Ms. Vanderwood certainly isn't the red-haired hacker and cannot seem to add the flair that Seven is sure he threw in that research.

"L-O-L-O-L." Okay, scratch that. Maybe the maid is doing it, but it's just so boring! Who spells that out? Really.

Stifling a yawn, Seven saves and pauses his mouse-work, stretching out his aching fingers and stiff back before positively melting onto the small open space of desk in front of his keyboard.

"What are you doing?"

Ah, finally, some emotion from the stony-faced Vanderwood!

"Listening to the sounds of a very boring ocean," The redhead hums, scratching lazily at the side of his nose.

"Don't do that." Vanderwood glares at the disgusting fingernail scraping at filled, irritated pores. "Instead, why don't you actually do the work so we both can face another week without being hung from our toes and gutted like game." Finally pulling distracted earthy eyes from the nail and the layer of grime beneath it, they sigh.

"Your voice is so dull and creating pores in a digital image isn't much in the way of exciting, though~." Partly exhaling and blowing a raspberry with his pout, Luciel sinks deeper into his lay. "Entertain me~!"

"Sure."

Clickclickzzzzt! Clickclickzzzt!

In an instant, Seven is back up, stock still, a nervous laugh spilling from his lips.

I-is that an electric cattle prod?! Where the fuck did Ms. Vanderwood even have that thing? That's not very lady-like at all.

"I-I mean, the way you read makes me feel like I'm in the right atmosphere to learn!" He goes to give a self-encouraging fist pump, but aborts, coughing into it instead at scowl he receives, fully aware that the maid has taken a step toward him. "R-right... So, where was I?"

Hell?

Is Hell the right answer, you demon?!

Linguistics... Pores... Face shine... Shadows... Positioning... Ahh, back to the grind.

Get it done. Get it done so that he can actually be useful.

Get it all finished so that when V calls, he can respond in whatever way necessary.

Complete the work so that he has at least a week before another government puts a price tag on his head.


	37. Chapter 37

"It's not working." 

A single statement has never rang more true than the one barely uttered just now. Who said it? Was it you? Saeran?

Does it even matter anyway?

Simply abstaining isn't the answer for you. For whatever reason pain has become an addiction, a means to normalize you, to give you something to cling to when you don't feel like putting in the effort for much more.

It's a balance between numb and contentment.

It's like the drugs currently pumping their way through your veins.

"It's not." You breathe the words upon a sigh as warmth floods your senses and he helps you to stand fully on your own two feet in wobbly fashion. You didn't ask, would never think to, but you don't stay upright on that shaky stance much longer at all; he hoists you up with a huff, his hold against you is crushing but not uncomfortable by any means.

You mold into every empty space, fitting into the angles of his joints like a missing puzzle piece that has found its home, despite your vocal defiance.

"I'm al-" Your brow ticks when the disciple cuts you off.

"Shut up."

"I can walk...?" Truth be told, you are thoroughly enjoying the warmth of his body and the strength of his grip. You don't want to leave from this spot. You don't want to be that far away from him and the icy heat his presence inspires to dance along your skin, leaving goosebumps in its wake and a pleasant fog that dulls your brain from the things you'd rather not think about. Of course, some thanks is due in part to the now empty bottle of medicine.

But still, do you deserve to be carried around like a damsel when you damn near broke your promise? No. Your protests are meek, but they are present at least.

"Congratulations." Saeran grunts, headbutting you lightly as he makes his way through the halls on long strides you probably couldn't have matched if you tried your damnedest. "...Just stay still. Let me ...please?"

Something in his voice cracks, giving way to a barely audible whine. He isn't looking at you, sage gaze locked on the path ahead but hell if it doesn't feel like you've been sucker-punched with a pout and puppy-eyes.

It's super effective.

Nodding absently, instead of words, you just rest your temple upon his collar, letting the tiny throb from his joking cranial abuse pull a sigh from your lips as lights flicker between dim and bright, a clear reminder of just how quickly you both are moving.

This isn't so bad, beyond the ever-present guilt, you find relief in the rocking of his rapid steps, the speed in the beat of his heart, the scent you've grown used to, demanding attention from your senses...

Heady.

Purely him.

You let your awareness of it overtake you; embracing you as wholly as the man himself is. Basking, almost dreamily recalling all the memories you've made with Saeran up until now.

Each real smile he'd flash you, the sound of his laugh, the tears he'd try his hardest to hold back when he wakes with a jolt in the middle of the night... His gruff retorts and the way you tease and insult each other in good humor.

The way your stomach flips when there isn't need for words, just companionable silence and expressive stares that do all the talking for you.

Just... Everything.

How could you even think of going back on your agreement to this guy? Just what kind of monster are you?

A low growl that rattles his chest is the only warning you get before he dumps you on to the messy mass of comforter and fluff, breaking you from your inner recollections and you bounce a bit when he joins you, sitting at the edge, still staring holes ahead at the spot in front of him.

"The fuck...!" Honestly, you're baffled. One minute he's squeezing the life out of you, parading through the halls of the mansion, the next he's tossing you away and onto a bed.

You would wriggle your eyebrows at how suggestive that would seem from the outside, but... You guys aren't like that.

Well, not... yet...?

Maybe?

Shit.

By the looks of the conflicted scowl on the disciple's face though, sexy-times are the last thing on the agenda.

"Okay... I know I almost fucked up-" Beyond comprehension, you scramble to give a rather poorly thought-out apology. It's the least you can do, but-

"That's not it." Saeran bites out the reply almost as soon as you start to continue speaking.

"'Kay...?" You wait for the man to continue... To do anything, really, aside from stare at the door as if it were about to start singing terrible renditions of eighties pop.

"..."

"..."

"..."

"Dude, what's wrong?" Patience is still not your strong suit. The question spills out almost as if one large word in a single breath and you grip at the blankets puffing into your palms, fidgeting in his silence, waiting as best you can for him to fill it.

His knee is bouncing, the bed is creaking gently amidst the hums of fans and nasally inhales from Saeran. You swat away some errant bangs and resume your abuse of the blankets, hyper-focused on deciphering your comrade's anxious tells.

Mouth moving at a feverish, frustrated pace, though unintelligible whispers are all you are awarded from him as his gaze drops from the entryway's frame into that of his lap. Distressed lines set deep along his brow, the muscle of his jowl prominent when he finally ceases his mumbling; he's gritting his teeth so hard you almost worry he'll crack them.

"I... didn't quite catch that, sorry.~" You attempt to lighten his mood and maybe glean a little insight, but he forces the air from his lungs, irked and defeated.

"WHO?" Barking the question through the curtain of white and fire, he tenses. You flinch a bit at the harshness, but you don't shy away. Instead, you find yourself leaning into the simple word.

Curious at his shift in emotion.

Ready for whatever punishment lies within his tone.

You deserve it, don't you? You were going to punish yourself just moments before, why not just let this happen. Just allow it all.

"What?" So, you egg him on, wanting nothing more than to hear his confusing reasons, whatever they may be. You'll listen to it all, happily.

Especially if it comes from him.

God, why are you like this?

Why do you relish the idea of this man scolding you, putting his hands on you.

Breaking you.

Well... you would have done it yourself... But you promised. You gave him your word. There's got to be another way... This is that way, right?

If it's Saeran, you don't mind. If it's him, he can do what he will. You give him this permission.

He's had this consent since the very beginning, anyway.

"WHO did you talk to today? Who gave you that job?" Starting off a bit intense, the disciple corrects himself, though the rest of his inquiry seemed rocky. You shrug it off as the side effect of the jolt from his knee.

You almost sink into a puddle of your own disappointment. The sanction you momentarily dreamt up is no longer within the horizon, slowly becoming a distant fantasy, fading away out of your greedy clutches instead of seeping into reality as you had... hoped.

"I didn't really catch a name, but they were nice enough... I guess. The guy just gave me something to do like I asked and showed me where to get the knife and bowl and where to put stuff when I was done." Maybe you didn't do as well of a job hiding your displeasure, you sound distracted and a hint bitter, even to yourself.

"Are you going to go back to... HIM... tomorrow?"

Wait... What?

"Huh?" Caught off guard, you are stupefied for a moment, confused by the slow-roasted shade in Saeran's tone. "I mean, if I need to do more kitchen stuff, I suppose... Why?"

"Oh."

"Oh?" What's with the sudden dejection? "Is... Is there something wrong with that?"

"Not a thing." Brushing off again, you see the tiniest tick of his mouth downward, so you push. You feel comfortable enough to with him. He wanted honesty, well, you do too.

"There's something that's bothering you, Saeran... " You don't miss the shudder that rolls down his spine as he relaxes at your soft statement. "Tell me, don't just keep it to yourself."

Heavy and deep he breathes, letting his head fall into the cradle his hands have made.

"I don't like it." It is all but a mere phantom of words, but all your focus is fastened on him. "I don't like it at all, lamb."

What doesn't he like? You have no clue, but you scramble a little to get closer, your fingers tracing circles on his shoulder blades to coax him into divulging more. He needs you now more than you need... That.

"Hmm...?"

"It's supposed to be me. The Savior granted you to me as my charge... I'm supposed to show you what you need to know. I was to be the one to teach you.

Did I fail? Did I fuck up somewhere along the line to make you want to leave me?-" He mumbles a mile a minute and you can't help but feel a little pang. Your hand drops to the tangled bedspreads. Your very soul prickles. "-Don't leave me. Please, don't leave... I hate being alone. I can't be alone again. It's supposed to be me, yeah? The Savior told me so, right? You're mine to teach. I can't fail this. I can't, just tell me what to do... I have to-"

"Was... no...

Am I an obligation to you?" Unfortunately for you yet another moment arises that your mouth works before your brain can process much more and you cut him off before he can continue.

Here this man is, confessing to the feelings he would have bottled up and all you can do is obsess over that one detail.

You really fucking suck. How self-centered of you. Can you just NOT for a second?!

Even though you hate yourself for bringing it up and allowing the question pass your lips, you can't help but be satisfied to be able to get it out there in the first place. Have you ever been able to ask these sort of queries as easy as this? Without build up, without stuttering and blubbering your way through?

No.

Only now. Only with him.

Even if you are only a duty. A mere obligation. A job...

"Damn it, that not it!" Fists form at his head and tufts of fire-tinged hair poke out from between the knuckles as huffs wrack his ribs in fast, labored pumps. " I just... I brought you here. I figured you would stay by MY side... It- I feel empty when you aren't. I get so fucking MAD thinking about someone else taking over my duties to you. God, I hate sharing YOU with the family... And...

And... I fucking HATE that I feel that way!"

Well then... That shut you up.

"Oh..."

Shut you right up, it did.

You feel the heat creep into your cheeks and the tips of your ears burn. You still don't like that he's been placed as your mentor as a duty and that you are technically his burden but...

Is...

Is he jealous?

He's so troubled right now, but sweet Jesus, that is kind of adorable... Charming.

No one has ever been jealous over you before. Its a novel feeling, really. So different than being disposable, easily tossed and picked back up again on a whim.

Is... Is this really how he feels? Is this really happening?

His grip gets tighter the longer you don't speak, but the tug against his scalp seems to be helping to keep him from throwing something or punching a wall and you feel a bit envious. You long for that same sense of security; a tinge that keep you zoned into this moment, this reality and you get an idea.

You reach for one of his fists.

Maybe...

Just maybe...

He loosens, allowing you to disentangle his locks and you pull it to your own head, curling your digits around his own and ducking down enough to look straight into his dilated and bewildered stare.

And you force him to pull.

"I'm yours, remember?" His brows knit at your words and sage darts back and forth from your gaze to his fist wrestling a thick silken nest of your hair as it yanks with just enough pressure to make you gasp. Jaw slackening into an adorable 'o,' you move boldly onto his lap, your other hand free to hug the disciple to your chest. "And you... You're mine, right?"

You know it's not right to think this way. People are not objects. He is not a thing.

You...

You're... still quite questionable.

His hand falls slack from his head as he grabs your other; brushing his thumb so gently against your palm before mimicking your actions and making you take hold of his soft tufts. Your eyes lock, a look that you just feel means 'I'll only do this to you if I endure it too' and he grins, giving a sharp little tug that you copy.

"Yeah~?

...Yeah, I guess you're right." His words puff across your collarbone and neck as his grasp loosens, tips soothing your afflicted, prickling scalp before pulling again a different spot, bringing you even closer, the flesh of his cheek hot on your neck, his temple ghosting along your jaw as your scruff cranes back in delicious discomfort.

You arch into him, your clothes rustling together as your thighs circle around his sharp hips, adding that extra little bit of bruising pressure that makes his ministrations that much more heavenly.

You moan, choking to cut it off in embarrassment. If you could blush any harder, now would be the time.

You like this.

A lot.

It was a stretch, you weren't counting on him causing you aches to be this enjoyable. So much the same and yet different when others have put their hands on you. You are allowing it. You instigated it. You feel a sense of intoxicating control, power over this pain. Not quite as extreme as it could be if you were inflicting it on yourself, though.

But hey, two birds, one stone and all that. He is reassured, at least... You definitely don't plan on abandoning him. Could never even fathom such a thought.

A scrumptious shiver rolls down your spine at a pinch of hair near your nape.

God, you definitely call this one a 'win.'

"This- Ahn~" He chuckles breathily at your sounds as you work sloppily to mirror his movements, granted, a bit weaker than his own."-This works."

For now.

It works, for now. But what happens when you need more; more pain than paltry hair-pulling... What then?

You know you'll never be truly satisfied by this... By anything.

You're too selfish.

Fuck it, you just won't think about that right now.

Letting his locks slide through your fingers, your arms intertwine around the man, hugging him close.

"I'll stay by your side." Licking your lips and forcing yourself not to bite them, you give Saeran a squeeze. "If you don't like it, I'll stay here. You don't have to feel like that anymore."

He only sighs in response, sinking deeper into you as you meld into him. Those hands that were busy at your crown now cupping your shoulders tenderly, trailing to loop the small of your back. There's a million different places you could be right now. Some good, some bad, some in between. But this; with him... This is the one you choose.

You don't think you could ever regret the choice you made made all those days -weeks? months? Hell, you aren't sure but it doesn't matter- ago.

Damn right, you'll stay.


	38. Chapter 38

"What do ya need, Mr. Disciple, sir?" You sigh out, half out of concern for all the vigorous knee-bouncing and pen tapping on the desk and half out of sleepiness. Repositioning yourself from the perch of your elbows into a proper sit, you lean into his general direction, ready to leap and fetch whatever you can to help.

He's got to be tired, too, right? It's been at least a full thirty hours since he started re-writing some sort of code, five of which you slept through.

"Nothing right now. Just in a bit of a bind. You don't need to worry about it."

"Yeah, okay." You've replenished the bottle at least twenty times and brought some easy eats along the way in your waking hours. Made the mistake of trying to give him coffee, too...

Never again.

Dear lord, never again.

That was a near catastrophic mess that bordered on both the physical and mental plane of which you definitely pray never to repeat. You'll stick to having a whole pot yourself from now on.

Still, there has to be something you can do for him. You have to be useful. You can't just keep sitting around while Saeran is straining himself trying to perfect some stuff you can't even comprehend...

There's gotta be something you can do...

Oh! AHA!

"I'll be right back!"

"Alright." Mumbling into a finger that's tapping at his lips, the hacker only slightly turns to you, response distracted as his eyes still fly over the walls of text.

A quick creak and cry from mattress springs and you've bounded up to your feet, a pace so quick it could be considered a brisk walk had you longer limbs. Once more, you've got the kitchen in your sights and your mind on all the sugary treats in high cupboards that you are determined to stick in his mouth whether he says he wants them or not.

Laughable, the latter. He always accepts sugar in all of its glorious forms.

A smile creeps onto your features as you barely register the murmurs of scattered crowds and squeaking voices of the youth in your surround. Colors, light and swarms of flowing black tinge the edge of your vision as you turn corners, feet chilled by the floor's cool surface as your naked feet repeatedly smack against it.

The door is just as heavy as you remember it being and a smart cookie like you adjusts your weight to open it easily with your side without breaking stride. The hinges click a bit instead of giving out a dull screech and you inhale deeply, both impressed that someone took initiative to oil the things and in search for the warm, saccharine give-away of fresh-baked pastry goods.

No such luck, sadly enough. But it's okay. You know where all the candy is held and you plan to make good with that knowledge.

Few cooks and prep-hands are still milling about and instead of words, you opt for a smile and nod, an easy non-vocal option that you don't feel bad about in the least right now.

You're on a mission, nothing can stop you right now.

Except maybe the drastic height difference between you and the cabinet looming above your head.

Normally, you wouldn't have an issue with it. You'd climb the counter-top with a hop and slide yourself up using the grip of fingertips and the curl of core strength to bring you to a kneel atop the preparatory surface, pilfer the treasures and then slide away like a tricky little serpent-monkey.

Which, probably shouldn't happen right now. There are eyes. All of them watching.

Always watching, you are sure.

Patience. You need to wait for the perfect opportunity, should they leave or at least turn their backs, you'll hit the target of your desires and make off with sugary richness to bestow it on the man with the fire-tinged hair and apparent sleep deprivation.

Yes...

You almost start twiddling your fingers and cackling, but you stop yourself in a moment of clarity. You got some sleep, but you are still pretty tired. Exhaustion tends to put you in a weird mental state.

Stop it, weirdo.

Instead of turning away from you or making their way out, they lean, heads cocked into a hush conversation and you try not to tap your foot or bounce in place like an idiot in your impatience. You can't help but let your eyes wander, shooting some dubious side-glances their way as they continue to speak, paying you no mind at all.

Internally, you sigh.

"So, he's making his peace with everyone, then?"

"Yeah... I'm sad to see him go, but so glad for him... It's been so long since the last has ascended."

"It's amazing that he was able to fulfill his purpose so quickly! I hope I'll be that lucky..."

"Right?!"

"His family must be so proud."

"The boy was bouncing around talking about it all throughout group."

"That's cute. Hahaha"

"I'm sure all the paperwork has been settled between Magenta and him then?"

"Oh geez, yeah. It's been done and ready for years now."

"Wow. Then, he really is ready, huh?"

You only half-snoop, not trying to be too nosy, but you're curious and obviously you want to see if they have any intention of leaving. Their chuckles startle you a bit, but you take that as distraction enough and hoist yourself swiftly, allowing the practice from decades of shortness to bring your task to completion with the dexterity of a pro and pockets as full as a master-thief.

And you book it right the fuck on out of there.

Embarrassed? Yeah, maybe.

Anxious? When aren't you...?

Excited? Yup.

Confused? MmmHmm... Especially now.

You have sweets and you have questions. There is only one destination for them both and hopefully Saeran will give in to your request for him to take a break.


	39. Chapter 39

Openings, Openings.

Where else can he insert and render the original useless and make his the primary operative? Questions, questions, never-ending.

He blinks a few times. Forcefully enough to refocus and wash away the dry cloudiness that had built. Had it been that long since the last time he shut his lids? Shit, gotta watch that or else the lenses will have to be cleared off again due to another nasty and uncomfortable fusion and he'll be out of commission and wearing ridiculous goggles for a week or two.

Saeran shudders, remembering the last time he hadn't heeded the dear ophthalmologist. Having to go under that terrifying eye-suction machine and having his lovely, sky-blue cosmetic lenses taken away; surgically removed and interchanged with sterile new ones of the same, left with healing incisions, an itchy face and no way to relieve it the whole time...

Ugh, not worth it.

Definitely not worth it.

Shame they couldn't make his eyes that pretty blue. Though, this isn't bad. It's an improvement to their natural color.

Amber yellow... Just like his.

No damned way is he going back.

He turns slightly, looping a finger in the uppermost drawer of his desk and pulling. Its contents shuffle around with the jerk but he finds what he's looking for quick enough with a prodding hand, checking the bottle and sighing once the solution is confirmed to be the correct target.

Gah, this part he hates too...

Tilting his head back, dropper filled and ready, he squeezes, blinking rapidly even before the fluid leaves its tube.

Shit.

Got to try again.

Inhale.

Exhale.

Squeeze.

Blinkblinkblinkbllink.

"Fuck!"

A snort startles him and he pinches the rest of the solution onto his face before he swivels his chair around only to be met with your face, twitching and red,  
desperately trying to remain neutral and failing miserably.

"Screw you." The disciple pouts and scowls a bit as he swipes away the mess from his dripping cheeks with the palm of his hand.

"Need some help?" Finally, you manage to breathe enough to speak somewhat normally, wheezy as it may be.

"No." Saeran squints at you, you squint back.

It's on.

You pull out a lollipop and unwrap the hard candy, gaze still slitted but a brow quirked in challenge. Like an old western flick, minus tumbleweeds, spurs, guns, high-noon and chaps.

"...Yes." He caves quicker than you expected with a defeated sigh. "Ahh."

You push the candy into his waiting, gaping mouth and instantly, his teeth clamp around it like a bear trap and he suckles at it happily, thoroughly enjoying the flavor of artificial green apples, a little pink dusting his still-glistening cheeks. Your heart skips a beat at the sight.

Cute~!

"Lean back dork, I've got this shit." You reach for the dropper, pressing the little rubber bulb to collect a generous helping ready to be in assistant-mode.

"Caw meh ah guhrk agehhn anm iwuhl kihc ehyew." Sage scowling at you through dewy red lashes, the hacker says something to you in gibberish, tongue so coiled around that sucker he can't even speak human. You chuckle and he growls a bit, like a puppy protecting his precious food bowl.

"Sorry~, didn't quite catch that!" You try your best to remove the little white stick and lolli from his mouth and he tugs back, breaking your hold and instead moving the sugar bulb to his cheek.

"I said: Call me a dork again and I will kick you. Jerk." He huffs.

"Ass." Tongue sticking out, you tap his forehead to make him lean it back. Your tips gently, but also strongly, pry his lids to an open and you apply a drop to one eye, quickly moving to give the same treatment to the other, holding your breath until you complete the pair. It'd be rude to breathe into his open eyes.

You've got some tact amidst your manic and energetic tired-high, at least.

Saeran rolls and darts them around while both open and shut, the excess liquid fluttering away with more blinks.

"And... if you wanna kick me later... That's fine~." Such a strange thing to say, but you roll with it. You wink and his mouth and brows contort in ways that make you both giggle a bit.

"God, I told you not to do that any more." He grunts in good humor.

"And, that's exactly why I did." You stick your tongue out at him again and before you can process what's happened, he removes his candy and whacks you square in the middle of your forehead with it, leaving a tiny, sticky dot of translucent green in its wake.

"You butt."

"... Butt? What the fuck kind of insult is that?" He chuckles amongst his mask of bewilderment, you only shrug back him. "Anyway, you started it, doof. Why'd you have to flick me?" Feigning hurt, he plops the lolli back into a tuck between his teeth and cheek.

"I didn't flick you. I tapped you. There's a difference."

"Not much." He shoots you a well-perfected wink and goes to turn back to the screens.

"Unh-uh, show off." You stop his chair from turning, instead, cutting off the motion and standing in front of him. "Break time, dude."

"But, I've just got to-"

"You need to rest up a bit, so, no. Annnd, I've got some questions about some stuff I heard from the other believers." His interest is piqued, lips pursed around the cardboard candy-skewer as he nods a bit and leans forward.

"Oh? I guess I can take a short breather, then... Shoot."

"Well..." Ugh... How should you word it? "Umm... Wh-what exactly happens when someone has fulfilled their purpose?"

Was that good enough? Ugh, honestly you have no clue, but it seem like he understands. Both of his brows raise and he smiles a closed serene simper, gaze clouding over a bit as he looks into the far yonder instead of you.

"Ah.~

They... They ascend, little lamb." Saeran sighs in a nasally exhale and swallows. "It's a moment for celebration. Something that is better witnessed than explained.

You experience the ascension. You feel it. You can't just talk about it."

"Okay..." You still don't quite get it, but you practically absorb the calm the man in front of you is giving off like a sponge. The slack in his face, tension drained from his back and shoulders.

And you believe him. You let his tranquil features and tone envelop your entirety.

You nod absently, letting your own smile grow.

"Okay." You breathe out the word once more, in a little downy puff.


	40. Chapter 40

"Now is the time, beloved children of Magenta. Into the ceremonial chambers with you all, join your Savior and your brother as he ascends, free from the ties of the contaminated world and into the arms of purity. Bring with you nothing but your happiness for him. Bring for him your undying support and the love of family into this celebration of untethered life..."

A voice like bells and satin flow through the intercom's speakers, rousing you from the impromptu midday nap you coaxed the hacker into and you stretch, poking Saeran on the top of his head with your extend-stiff limb in the process.

"Hey..." On a yawn you try for his attention and he grants you a peek of a single sleepy sage slit among puffy cheek pressed against knuckles. "The savior-" Another yawn sneaks its way out of your system, "The Savior wants us to go to the 'ceremonial chambers.' ... Where is that?"

"Hmm~." Instead of answering, the disciple basically rolls on top of you, slinging an arm of pure dead-weight around your side, his face now one with mattress fluff.

"Oof!" His squeezing pressure, the heat in each breath seeping through the bedsheets and onto your skin, his scent a bitter bite of tobacco, sweet mint, clean soap and fresh mountain air curls around your lazy body in heady swirls making your heart beat harder, faster as you remember the look in his eyes mere hours before when you shared pain tempered with sweet embraces in your ongoing game of hurt and comfort.

They way he'd pinch at your most sensitive spots, cooling the sharp sting away with puckered lips so close you can feel their heat as he blew; his palms and tips working over the tiny forming bruises... Repaying the favor by exploring his body in much the same way, trying desperately to keep it clean, as innocent as he had with you.

So often in your ministrations did you want to press your lips against him, to dart your tongue out for a little lick to taste the soap from his skin, the dip between each indentation of his small, compact muscles...

You cough to clear your throat, letting that thought drift off into the air.

You won't complain about his close proximity, would never... But right now, your curiosity boiling over from the day before, you need his attention. You want to know.

You want to discover what it means to be a real part of this family.

It's because you want to be even closer.

And, closer still.

So, on a deep, nasally inhale, you stick your finger into your mouth and proceed to shove it into his unsuspecting, vulnerable ear-hole.

"Uh-ughhhh!" Immediately the arm caging you to the disciple flies off, his digits working furiously to twist out the unpleasant moisture your own twitchy tip deposited.

"Pftt!" Barely, you hold off from barking a laugh into his face, screwed up in light disgust. "Time to get up, sunshine!"

"WHY THE EAR, THOUGH?!" Both growling and whining, he flatly glares at you; a silent concession to your assault. "Fine, fine... I'm UP! Happy?"

"Ecstatic." You chuckle. "Gotta get moving. Savior calls!"

"You know we are, like, just a hall away, right?" Exasperated, his brow ticks upward as he sits up. The blanket pools around his waist and his lithe, bare muscles cord as he stretches his body, inked flesh begging to be inspected and fully admired intimately under the soft pulsing glow of blue and shadow.

Oops. You found that train of thought and sucked it right back in.

This is a holy sight in itself. Lord, have mercy!

You've seen him plenty; sharing baths for water conservation, sharing a bed because it was convenient before it became just comfort... No matter how much you are exposed to him, you just want more.

His physique is seductive. His mind is alluring. His presence is addicting.

More.

Please.

"Oh. Actually... I had no clue." You snap out of it replying only slightly distracted, thankfully enough. Grasping desperately for recollection of what was said last and equally so, the bottle at your side, raising it to your mouth and soothing your parched throat before handing it over to him.

Your gaze lingers a little too long on the bob of his Adam's apple as he gulps and when you realize this, you tear it away, instead focusing on straightening the tight shirt you borrowed from Saeran that clings to your frame, fixing its skew and smoothing it down before you stand, pulling your new pants up from the sag they gained while you were asleep.

As much as you like wearing his stuff, how pleased he seems to be when sharing the articles of clothing, you weren't about to shove yourself back into his tiny pants. No one seemed to mind your request for a couple pairs of bottoms either, happy to have saved the fund-pool from the expected blow of an entire wardrobe.

You'd actually received praise.

That felt good, no matter how nervous and anxious you were during the entire talk.

And Saeran was by your side the entire time.

You smile, frown and yet smile again. Still, you believe you should be able to stand little things like this. If only you weren't so fucked.

If only you weren't so broken.

A nose-boop brings you back into reality and your shake your head, trying to reorient yourself.

"Oy! Did you hear me?" The disciple's hand waves in front of your face and his voice drops, concern now painting lines into his face. "You... You okay there?"

"Oh, haha... Yeah. I'm good." Blinking a bit too much, your simper corrects itself in ticks and you look up at him.

"You... sure?" The hacker eyes you, discerning, observing to which you respire deeply, fully enough to calm and relax. Not relenting in his gaze, he manages to shrug on a shirt.

"Yeah... I'm okay. Lead on!"

Silence lingers between you two as he sizes you up and you try to appease the obvious concern. Saeran's lips pucker, pressing together as he catches you in THAT stare. The one where you can't look away no matter how hard you try.

The one that can see right through you.

The one that melts your senses.

The one that makes you feel like you have no secrets.

And you give it right back.

"I'm really fine."

"Haah~." The hacker sighs, sliding out of his nest of blankets and pushing from the plush. "Seriously though, if something's up, spit it out, 'kay?"

"Yup." Shuffling out of the room, you saddle up next to his side and poke him in the ribs as you nonchalantly chirp your reply.

A few feet out and already you nestle closer into him, into your spot. His warmth giving you the courage to keep walking through the large crowd gathering and moving like a black river of fabric and faces. It's hard to breathe, going with the flow of this slow-moving current.

You cling.

You shake.

Among this family, you still feel like you don't belong in the one place you feel you belong the most. Your breaths have become rapid and held in at your own vain attempts at calming them.

Vaguely, you feel fingers lace between your own and break from the oppressive over-focus of tunnel-vision and shadow as he maneuvers you behind him, taking the brunt of tall shoulders and parting the sea of people just enough to get the both of you through to a clear area of the corridor.

His thumb rubs circles around your knuckle as he squeezes, hard.

The dull ache helps to ground you.

It helps you to focus.

You squeeze back, putting as much into the action to try and match his. He chuckles at you, the sound nearly drowned out in the crowd's muttering, but you could pinpoint that sound anywhere, in any situation just from the ease it gives you.

Stopping out of the way of the mingling masses, he stoops just enough so that you have a clear channel to his voice and his features. He wants you to hear only him in this moment, to see only him.

You suck in a breath at the suddenness.

"Are you ready to see what it means to ascend, little lamb?" You nod. "Do you know how much of an honor it is to be able to ascend?" Saeran's tone is so light, so wispy as he smiles down at you, his fingertips curling and tickling at the palm of your hand.

"I'm ready to learn."

And, you truly are. Given the brilliance reflected in the disciple's eyes as he guides you along the outskirts of people toward a pair of grand double doors, open for all to enter; you want so bad to share in the experience, the peace you feel from your companion.

You want to understand more.

You want to be a part of more than just... you.


	41. Chapter 41

He's called.

Again and again, V has called and yet Luciel hadn't had the chance to tear away and take up the phone. He's in a serious time crunch and stuck in a moral rut being watched like a hawk and scolded like a naughty child.

In prison.

With tasers and sharp, pointy things as 'motivation to do better' and he really, really can't keep working like this.

"Hey, Vanderwood?" Eyes glued to the many screens at his fore and voice a startling living-dead sounding flat that surprises even himself, the hacker vies for the attention of his maid as she hits the pause of another sentence's end.

"What Zero-Seven? Time IS wasting away, you're aware." Ms. Vanderwood heaves a sigh and growls out the words in annoyance and anxiety. "You don't get this done and it is both our heads. I don't know about you, but I have things I still would like to do that require me having most of my bodily functions intact and my skull attached to my spine, thanks."

"Yeah... about that..." The red-head swaps windows and abandons his mouse in favor of the keyboard. "What do you think will happen once this job is done?"

"Mnn..." The maid swallows a swig of water before capping it up and replacing the bottle on a side-table. "Well if we consider rumors as genuine intel on the client... It doesn't look too good. But, work is work. We are nothing but what we are given... You know this. What choice do we really have?"

"And, say we get everything done without the rumors being true... What then?"

"Get another client, complete mission. Forget it all and move on... Like usual?" Earthy eyes slit as Vanderwood answers the uncomfortable question. Exactly where is the hacker going with this? These are dangerous thoughts.

This is how agents go missing and never pop up again.

This is how many eternally cease to exist and the red-head's partner isn't having it.

"Just what the bloody hell are you getting at, boy?"

His fingers stop moving. The heels of his palms slacken further on the desktop as Luciel hangs his head.

"You aren't thinking far enough." Sighing, he rubs at tired amber eyes beneath oil-slick rims. "Just...

Do you trust me?"

"What-"

"Do you trust me, Vanderwood?!" Irritated and antsy, he bites out the words the best he can manage through fatigue and dizziness.

"To some extent, I suppose. But not enough for you to start acting like an imbecile, keep that in mind; should I need to straighten you out, I will without hesitation. " A cutting glance and the chill from it stops dead when the red-head only nods.

"Yeah... Yeah... I'll, uh... I'll keep that in mind."


	42. Chapter 42

One by one in scatter, organized within its own chaos, the weak semblance of a line begins to move forward. Onward, into the large room softly lit by dimmed sconces and hanging spherical, stained-glass lanterns that drop from the high ceiling at the points of each sleek wooden diamond pattern bathing every inch of filled space with hints of deep multi-colored hues that ease the eyes into a relaxing unstrained between ghost-like curls of rising smoke from carved pillars lining the set walking path. Sweet to the senses; it teases your nose with notes a mix of pine, mint and lemon. Palo Santo, if you aren't mistaken. It's... recognizable...

At least, to you.

Your mother enjoyed the stuff, even if she could rarely get her hands on the incense most of the time. Too expensive for her meager earnings, spent on her other, more preferred, recreational items of enjoyment.

Every few clicking steps on polished marble floor you are forced into a stop and you curl further into the disciple at your side allowing yourself to partake in his heat, to really feel him there; lulling your nerves into almost nothing as you take this all in stride. You soak in every detail, relish the feel of community now starting to swell in your chest as the breaths you take feel lighter than each one before; less oppressing as you get used to the many individuals in your surround and knowing their focus is not on you.

The deeper in, the more quiet the crowd around you becomes, even as they break from this haphazard formation in search of seats along the rows of carved mahogany bench and plush navy couch. Instead of waves of indistinguishable whispers and cacophony of dizzying murmurs, single voices can be made out, clear as each syllable reverberates along the wall's acoustics.

"Daddy! I'm very proud of you! You did a good job!"

"Daddy! I hope I can ascend just like you one day!"

"We all love you so much, honey. You are amazing. You... You deserve this honor."

"Brother, your hope and never-ending persistence is amazing. You've done so well... Absolutely inspirational. Congratulations. You deserve it, completely."

"How, bro? How'd you do it so quick? You think you can give me some hints? Heck man, is it weird for me say you're my idol! Haha... Yeah... I can only hope to ascend as soon as you. Love you, man. For real. 'Grats!"

You try and fail at letting those conversations be; hearing every small thing such as congratulations in abundance and professions of love in both platonic and romantic ways. Even as the messages don't catch your full attention, still you are wrapped within the novelty of each's meaning.

Squeezing the hand wrapped in your own gently and allowing your digits to wander, you absently rub at Saeran's knuckles, a touched, contented hum bubbling from within. You aren't aware when that grin plays upon his lips as lazy sage take in the sight of you, peering forward, rocking back on your heels, but you feel that familiar prickle of heat at your nape from his stare.

Nearer and nearer you both get, no longer hearing the quality echoes but the words themselves as they are being said in front of you.

"It's been a pleasure to help you. I wish you a peaceful rising, Graham. Please continue on knowing that all is settled, brother. The family will receive what you so generously give." Raspy and tender, the man in your toward pulls another into a cordial hug. His hair a stark contrast of grayed salt and pepper against the other's buzzed platinum as you catch a look of the youthful features of the center of ceremony.

So young and yet he has managed to both find his purpose and fulfill it in such a short time. Your lips part as your jaw slackens in awe. It's astounding, really.

But... as he settles himself back into his luxurious mounds of silken pillows and sheets upon the well-shined floor, your mind wanders.

Deeply you hope it was a peaceful purpose. Not one stuck on revenge or murder. You sincerely hope that his was something profound, something more meaningful.

You'll never know, because you would never ask. But still, you want to have the belief. The man in front of you lets go of Graham, sparing him a last look before turning to find his own perch, but before he gets any further, you catch his eye and he offers you a warm smile.

"Hello, new child. I don't believe we've ever met."

"Oh! Um, Hello. I think you're right. It hasn't been that long since I uh... came here." Startled at his sudden interaction, you stumble over your tongue trying to string together a passable few sentences.

"Yes, well. I don't happen to live in the complex. I'm on mission in the contaminated world to help bring word of Magenta and the Watcher of Mint Eye to the heathens and assist our family with this land's piteous laws as assets, wills and probate are still governed by them."

"Ah..." What exactly are you supposed to reply to a mouthful like that with? You are lost, only really understanding the gist of his intent. " I see."

"Here." His kindly wrinkled hand holds out a single business card that you take between the pinch of two fingers. "Please let me know if I can ever be of any assistance to you. Take care, please excuse me." With a nod, he brushes past you, sure stride toward the comfortable looking couches that line the wall and front wide pillars.

Card in hand, you turn to your companion as others take their place to converse with the celebrated man and he is still staring toward the back of the older man, a blank look blooming lines in the center of his brow, eyes lidded in such a state between a glare and congenial contentment.

"Uh..." You tug a little bit, breaking him from whatever stupor he was stuck in. "Do you think you can hold onto this, I have sucky luck with pockets."

Well, it's the truth.

No matter how deep you stick a thing of necessity in your pockets, it always goes missing. Whether the blame falls on a hole or a magical mystery, it happens and you are loathe to tempt fate any longer.

"Yeah... Sure. 'Kay." You cock your head and raise your brow at the airy, aloof tone as his jaw works and his grip tightens on you slightly.

"M'kay..." Licking your lips, you resist the urge to bite. Instead, you take to pulling the fire-tinged and white-headed man at your side closer to you as you step back into the fray.

"Hello, Graham, is it?" You offer your free hand to the celebrated kin and feel the vibration of something that sounds vaguely like a growl beat at your shoulder as it rings almost inaudible from overhead. A quick shake is enough and you make sure to pull your hand back as soon as you can. "Congratulations. You've done so well to find and complete your purpose so soon. I can't imagine how freeing that must be."

You can speak! Not only that, but your sentences spill from you like river, flowing so smoothly as you beam up at the man, caught in his frosty-eyed stare lined with laughter and peace.

"Thank you, child." Graham chuckles at the show of enthusiasm. Saeran, on the other hand merely nods, pushing his fist out for the other to touch with his own; his gaze a bit harsh, clashing with the friendly gesture.

You shrug it off.

That's just him, right?

When he begins to lead you to an empty couch, your feet keep in step with his own large stride, doubling to keep up.

You get it. You understand.

He's wary. He's concerned.

He's, and you aren't trying to be conceited or anything, jealous.

You aren't irritated with it in the least. It feels nice, in a way. Are you really that important to him? Does he really view you so preciously?

Are you an irreplaceable friend to him? Family? Peers? More?

Honestly, what you have with him defies many labels and yet seems to also meld them all together. It doesn't need a name but it matters to you. It matters because this lovely man is part of it with you.

The disciple seats himself, making sure to scoot over enough to give you room to take up your side. A close fit that you would never complain about as both of you watch the last traces of stragglers hurry to greet Graham and settle in the empty spots still left.

"It's almost time, lamb."


	43. Chapter 43

Like an angel descending the heavens to take the chosen man in her arms and lead him to the almighty Father, the Savior phases through the open empty entryway from behind Graham, taking each step in slow procession as her gown of white flows around her dainty frame, swishing, hugging every movement as she carries what looks to be a tea tray of brushed gold holding a smoking incense burner and a decorative corked bottle of black glass that glints a myriad of colors whence it catches in the dim light.

Waves curl around her shoulders and trail behind as if each lock were the sun's rays bent by a gentle breeze. Atop her head, tresses braided into a crown weaved delicately with white irises sit above the loving gaze of emerald and warmth as she looks to the ascending while each tap of every step lessens the gap between he and she.

Hush grows ever-deafening. So much so that when Graham breathes and forces the silk around him to brush together, you can clearly hear the zip of it, the slight wheeze caught in a constricted throat, an unsuspected sniffle from a disciple from across the way.

It's then that the beautiful savior begins to sing; no words, instead a haunting melody of 'la's' and 'ah's' that fill the void of voice in the crowded sea of onlookers as she inches closer and closer.

The vision is hypnotizing; breath-taking, resounding in your very soul, even as she reaches her destination, kneeling into a side-kneed sit as she sets the tray next to her, gracefully busying her hands to smooth her skirt into a puddle behind her.

"Are you prepared, child?" In a single breath, seamlessly intertwined with her tune, the Savior looks down upon the man to her right, an affectionate simper playing at her lips, she asks only this one question.

"I am, my Savior." On a sigh, Graham answers without missing a beat. There's a faint beaded glint in his smile-cinched eyes that you catch.

He looks so happy.

That man looks so relieved.

So serene.

Your heart beats slow, steady, with purpose as you lean in to hear, though it isn't even necessary. Each sound surrounds you.

You are captivated.

"Lay then. Rest your head upon your Savior's lap." The ethereal woman lends support to the ascending as he slowly lowers himself, resting face up, gaze never leaving her face as she then reaches for the small black bottle, plucking its cork with a small squeak and placing the thing back onto the tray.

"Drink, sweet child of Magenta, if you're prepared to fully ascend the heights of Heaven as our holy Father has prepared Paradise for your arrival." The bottle dangles within her fingertips as she holds it above Graham, leaving the final, true decision up to the platinum-haired man.

And he does.

Down it goes, in one, two gulps.

The Savior sweeps the bottle out of his grasp, putting it away onto the golden platter. This time, she hums, her knuckles tenderly stroking the man's cheek as her free hand begins to pet the ascending's head.

Those lids are growing heavy, but he fights to keep them open as if trying to burn the image of her into his memory until he loses the fight, eyes fluttering shut as the Savior continues the lullaby, letting it fade ever so slightly as the man's chest moves at a slower rate.

She keeps humming, comforting Graham, tracing each of his features with her tips like a loving mother cradling her tired child.

She keeps on, even after he stops breathing.

Only when the Savior's lovely tear-stained and smiling face lifts to the audience does their silence cease, startlingly replaced by raucous applause as many jump to their feet, eager to celebrate the full, purposeful life well-lived and his entry into the ultimate Paradise.

There is an ache in your chest that wells even as the warmth flows through your limbs when you find that you were applauding with the best of them.

The ceremony was beautiful.

It was perfect.

You can only hope that your own ascension is filled with that much love and surrounded by your new family.

This envy, though...

Tears sting at your ducts and you bury your face into Saeran as he stands there next to you, arms open and inviting, ready and waiting for you.

You peer back, noticing how the blonde woman takes great care wrapping the ascended in the silks he was swathed in, plucking the flowers from their perch in her hair as it falls with each removed stalk and putting them to rest with the man, delicately laying his head upon a pillow as four other believers work to slide the earthly body of Graham onto a carry-cot and retreating behind the Savior as she makes her way into the darkness of the back doorway.

Your heart flutters and squeezes, a turbulent blend of emotions warring inside that you remain a spectator to as you bury yourself deeper into hacker's hold.


	44. Chapter 44

It was her.

He'd know that scent anywhere. Warm as the sun, fragrant as the flowers that bloom beneath its radiance in green-splashed spring, as sweet as honey from busy bees and gentle as the taste of vanilla in her favorite latte sipped amidst the chilly winter.

V doesn't need to rely on sight, her mere presence draws him, pulling him on a string and he, her willing puppet.

Every day since that incomplete conversation beneath her window, he'd visited; finding an opening one way or another through disciples on-guard and the pitch darkness that his world had become. And, just like that fated time, Rika refused his reasons instead touting the values of this family; her creation, her paradise.

Even now, as he follows the steps that resound from these cool walls that press and scratch at his temple and cheek, careful of the rapid taps that trail her, he keeps on. V won't give in, won't give her up to the authorities that he heard rumor to have started official investigation.

He won't let her suffer this any further.

Now that his mind has been expanded; he's done what she asked. No longer do the shadows lurk, nor does light peek through.

He finally understands.

Giving up the visions of the world and people around him, letting fine lines and breathtaking hues blur into the abyss, he now is in a reality both isolated and connected. Struggling to fit in with the vibrancy that surrounds his body while his mind is trapped in noisy void.

He called this sort of helplessness 'beautiful.'

How foolish.

Cruel.

V allowed her to torture herself by badgering about therapist appointments where she'd only pretend more; entrap herself further as they fed her medications instead of reason and perspicacity. All along he was enabling the facade without taking heed to what lay beneath.

He understands now.

On that first day of nothing, he'd cried upon waking. Unable to truly orient himself, he remained a dizzy catastrophe, clumsy as a newborn just figuring out limbs and motion. No measure of depth, no concept of self. Just there, where ever there was.

Somewhere within the empty black, he was alone with only the constant buzzing and thrumming of his phone on a wooden table somewhere across the impossible, impassable null to accompany.

He laid there in bed, destitute...

Debilitated...

Vulnerable.

If anyone were to have called him beautiful in that moment... All weaknesses exposed, without a shred of dignity or assistance; all flailing and sinking, drowning in this unending ocean of naught...

...

He was a bystander.

A liar.

Cretinous.

He deserved Rika's curse... Her blessing.

In it, half truths and ignorance could be made whole and amended. A new sense could be borned of the dark and with it, a new determination.

He'd found his phone, finally braving the unknown, fumbling, returning all the calls his phone announced that were from Luciel, back to him, worry delving into his very soul. It was unlike the boy to decline or leave his device to voicemail when V was the one to ring.

Again and again, over and over he ordered his mobile to dial; such persistence and dread rewarded by nothing but dead air and fear for the younger man.

But as restricted as he is, the blinded man can only wait. Can only hope to speak with his love during the day and attempt to reach Luciel in the mornings or nights; or at least the equivalent of time between his wake and sleep.

Ah.

Her voice! That lovely sound lifting to the heavens through swollen and parted pink lips, long blonde lashes fanning across flushed ivory cheeks as she loses herself in song... Calignosity has tight grasp upon his eyes and yet, he can imagine it so clearly.

His hands feel along the wall, going toward that angelic tune, feet shuffling as they slide along the smooth floor he inches closer and closer. Far enough for lemon and minty pine to bite at his nostrils in a desperate attempt to drown out the fragrance of her.

Breaths. So many breaths.

He stops.

Has he been found out? Or... What is this?

"Are you prepared, child?" A shiver rolls down V's spine as dulcet tones flow effortlessly through the void and into his being. Naturally he leans into the direction of her words that aren't meant for him.

"I am, my Savior." He listens with a longing pang at the smile of pitch from whom he no doubt believes the recipient of Rika's affection may be.

"Lay then. Rest your head upon your Savior's lap." V has to fasten himself to clutching the wall again as he stumbles in lack of stability.

"Drink, sweet child of Magenta, if you're prepared to fully ascend the heights of Heaven as our holy Father has prepared Paradise for your arrival." It astonishes him how greedy the slop of liquid against glass and parched swallows can sound.

So eager.

So ready.

It isn't until the blind man hears the absence of the other and the fading of tune that he realizes what has happened; what he walked into and as sickened he is at the idea, his mind is stuck on the sniffs and throaty whines that whisper into the atmosphere, a mere figment lost and barely audible amongst cheers that disorient mentality and the heart.

A smattering of smacking, heavy steps make their way closer, closing in on his position and V finds his nerve, taking action once that familiar scent tinged with salt draws near. His spread is unsteady, unsure, but purposeful.

"Rika... That man... He's-"

"Why are you here, liar?" That voice is so thick yet so fragile and near breaking. He can only imagine that those brilliant emeralds are clouded with a thin sheen of tears, wet shining around those eyes as they glare at him through dampened lashes.

"Please, my love, this has to end.

The deaths need to stop. You need to leave this place now. Hate me, hurt me, do anything you want to me, but please believe me and grant me this one wish." His fingers fan as he reaches without direction, waving slowly, gently just to detect the slightest hint of her warmth, tips itching to wipe those tears from her cheeks.

"You've gone completely blind now?" Lips parted as if to punctuate, V nods to his fore. "Fool. You're useless now, don't you understand?" Her hollowly laughed sentiment is like a stab in the chest, the underlying sob that thickens it further, however, sets flutters of hope into his stomach.

"You told me to." He doesn't accuse her, simply breathes this into the air. "I would do anything for you-"

"Quit giving me empty words, you've said all of these things before and yet-"

"I didn't know like I do now. I didn't understand. But things need to be different. This can't keep happening, Rika... This can't be what you envisioned..."

"...You know nothing." Rika leaves only this sigh as she passes by, leaving him standing outstretched as disciples follow her lead, a floral and chalky, astringent smelling body in their hold.

"Rika..? Rika..." She hadn't told him to leave and with this information, V clings to that fact with a dawning optimism.

He turns in the direction of lesser footfalls and her fragrance. He needs to find her again, needs to speak to her more.

Maybe she'll listen. Maybe she'll walk away again... But, he's pierced her thoughts, V is certain.

He can't lose hope.


	45. Chapter 45

"So?" Sage eyes stare at you, dilated and expectant. Your reflection is nothing but a silhouette against the glows of blue and flickering static in those inquisitive pools.

You want to speak.

You do.

Wanting nothing more than to boast about the beauty and depth of such a ceremony, to speak on the Savior's gentle caresses and how she soothes the soul into the Paradise of Heaven. You want to elaborate on how awestruck the sheer amount of support and love that was shown...

But, you can't.

You are speechless, for many different reasons.

"Mmhmm." Biting your lip, your lids burn and every breath comes out heavy, you nod not trusting yourself with actual words.

That man had kids, a wife...

They were in that crowd, watching as he breathed his last.

Happily, even...

Everything was so nice, though... Still, it goes against everything you've always thought; obvious morality issues aside.

When the prospect of your own death would plague you, every fantasy tended to stick to a guideline: no one could see, so as not to traumatize anyone. No one could merely walk in and find a body for the same reasons. It couldn't be misconstrued as someone else's fault and it had to look like an accident or something completely natural... If your debts were to pass on to an unknown someone else in your family, you hoped your life insurance would pay it all off.

You always paid into premiums when you had extra, for this very reason.

But the ascension... It followed none of your rules... And it was...

God, you can't even think of a fitting word.

"Hey..." He's panicking and you're on the verge of tears again.

Why are you such a crybaby around him?! You shouldn't be making him worry so much.

"I'm fine... " You manage, coughing to clear your throat a bit. "Just a bit overwhelmed, I think."

"Graham was happy..." The disciple pushes off of the bed, running his fingers through the hair atop your head as he makes his way over to his computer chair, the warmth fades from the spot where he was. The cool dip in comforter is disappointing, though he's only a short distance away. "He worked so hard to get there,... was rewarded in the way he wanted."

Mind a fogged and empty quiet, you watch blankly when he seats himself, listening absently to the words Saeran speaks in that lulling tone of his as you try desperately to keep the underlying tears at bay. But when he pats his lap, you come and when he opens his arms, you let yourself fall into him, threading your legs through the space beneath each armrest.

He doesn't say anything else, nor does he force you to hurry up and try to make sense of the emotions. With a single palm rubbing circles at the center of your shoulder blades and that melancholy tune of his rumbling at the disciple's neck, he lets you be.

He just lets you feel.

He allows you the support of his touch, the comforting and steady beat of his heart and that lullaby at your ears even as he turns back to the screens, pecking diligently with the tips of just one hand.

Like this, you don't have to think.

With him, like this, all you need is to listen, feel; endure all of the emotions you can't name just yet and come to understand it all in time.

You give a hollow chuckle at a realization as you wrap your arms around the hacker's middle, sinking deeper into the man.

He was right.

There was no way he could have explained all of that in mere words.

It was too deep. Too beautiful. Too haunting.

It was sad, joyous,... surreal.

Are you awed right now? Shocked? You really can't tell.

One thing you can't quite shoo away, another single thought that keeps pestering you...

When it comes time for Saeran to ascend, would you be able to congratulate him and let him go?

And... Could he for you?

Pesky, troubling, unnecessary thoughts; they pop up among the hazy overflow of everything else leaving you huffing into his shirt, willing your hardest not to lose control.

You can't cry again.

Don't do it.

Stop.

Just don't think...

You burrow deeper into his embrace when you soak his shirt. He doesn't complain, instead, Saeran holds that much tighter. You are grateful, so thankful of him.

Though, it only makes the tears come that much more.


	46. Chapter 46

"I've only got a small window of opportunity here. I have to take it. There's no time to find someone else and convince them to go."

"But you said it was dangerous!" Your mind is racing a mile a minute, images of bloody worst-case scenarios and dead gazes staring into your mind's eye and you are shaking, panicked. "Then let me go! I can do whatever it is you need me to do. Just tell me what it is and I'll handle it... Please." It's hard to speak through the rapid and painful lung convulsions, but you do your best to manage.

To plead.

He can't go. He can't get hurt.

He can't leave you alone. You couldn't stand it if anything were to happen to him. This, you know, is one hundred percent selfish... But fuck if you care about that right now! If anyone is to get hurt, it should be you.

Ultimately, you are the one who put him in this situation, it is only right that you fix it, right?

"Lamb..." A sigh escapes him as he tilts up your chin so that you can look at no where but his blown pupils and the pool of sage that surrounds it. You squirm in his lap, hands gripping the back of his shoulders so hard in your panicked state that your nails dig tiny crescents into his sleeveless flesh. Though, your breathing slows and the visions stop the longer you gaze into him. "I can't risk this."

"I'll try my best not to mess up!" His brows knit, your lips tremble. "...A-at least let me come with you... As back-up or something..."

"You've already been seen on security cameras, little one." With a defeated huff, the disciple presses his forehead into yours. "It wouldn't work, we'd be tracked before even getting close and I can't slow the program that'll be running in my phone just to run a jammer."

Tightly your lids clench and you press into the head-touch as if it were an outlet for your internal tantrum. Within the darkness of your shut eyes and the cacophony of your own screeching mentality, you are vaguely aware of the palms snaking around you and the tips as they press into you.

Your lashes flutter open as the nails rake at your back and you shudder, arching into him further; enjoying the sting, letting it calm you, ground you. It helps to shut out the thoughts, to remind you that the bad only COULD happen, that it isn't what absolutely WILL happen.

"I get it... I just..." Sniffing back your frustration, you bite and drag your lower lip through your teeth. "Just promise me you'll come back safe."

The lopsided smile and the strength of his hold is only confirmation you need.

He has no intention of not coming back; of not being successful. And with that, you melt back into him, letting the man work out the rest of the sequence blinking serenely from the center of his screens.

You can't lose him; can't even think about losing him.

He's become far too much to you. He's become the center of your small and enlightened world. Without Saeran, it would just...

Everything would just vanish.

Without thinking, you kiss the collarbone that is pressing against your lips and nip at it in the same breath. A shiver rolls along his spine and hitches an inhale and you soak it all in, wanting nothing more than to discover as many of his reactions as you can weakly manage before he leaves you behind.

Everything that is him, you want to commit to memory.

Just...

Just in case.

Yeah, just in case.


	47. Chapter 47

"Ms. Vanderwood~, any time now..." Tension mars his back with rigidity, his legs are locked and ready to run if the answer given isn't favorable, but the red-head's face is painted with a goofy grin and bright eyes accentuated only by the fatigue bruises surrounding them.

"Cut the shit, Zero-Seven." The faux maid and agent draws air in deeply through their nose, shutting lids only to allow the oxygen to seep back out. "What you're proposing is suicide."

"Exactly how is this that much different than what we were doing, hmm~?" The hacker quirks a brow and leans forward, but earthy eyes do not miss the way his fingers grip at the armrests of the chair or how the contours of his jaw tighten.

"Point." The brunette agent is loathe to admit it, but things aren't looking good either way.

"Everything is all set up and ready to go... I just need your word." Everything Luciel says is making more and more sense and it is... confusing. Frustrating.

This agency gave Vanderwood a way to stand on two feet, rescued a lost child and provided education, food, shelter and clothes in exchange for services only they could complete. This job gave a sense of purpose, of belonging... and yet pounded in the message that they didn't deserve to be known, to have a self to be...

They're indebted.

Who would Vanderwood be without the agency.

Who could Vanderwood be?

The chance is right there in front of them; take it and discover the answer to those questions. Dead or alive. Don't and probably never have that chance again.

The method is pretty sound.

Zero-Seven is, probably, more than capable.

An encrypted warning to the junior members to evacuate is an opportunity for the younger and more innocent agents to escape.

Hacking in and regaining a place in society through the national registry; to exist rather than being a shadow of that forgotten child...

Throwing the mission and agency's information out into the general public and all media outlets through spam emails and hacked feeds; It would take care of most loose ends. There would be a watch on the agency's leading members, an investigation into both countries and added security on people traveling to and from there...

But where does that leave them? Financially... Socially...

It all sounds so good. Too good to be true.

Is Vanderwood ready to take that risk? Is the red-head?

It truly is a gamble.

"... Seven." With this one word, molten amber and earthen pools meet, searching each other; weighing the silence hanging heavy in the atmosphere. "Can I really trust you? Can I...

Can I count on you to deliver?"

For the first time in nearly a decade, Luciel smiles. A real one. One without pretense of facade or the forced cheer of a false fool.

"Yeah!" Tension draining from every muscle, instead of making a run for it, the red-head spins in his chair to type in the final commands. "Leave it to me, Ms. Vanderwood!"

"... Sure, Zero-"

Wailing screeches and sirens flood the vast room causing both to jump. Red rotary lights flash as triple-tones are followed by a computerized voice booming-

"WARNING."

"Haah~" Luciel wills his fingers to quicken, finishing the last line of text before entering their coup into a reality. "Fuck."

"WARNING."

"GOOD GOD, BOY!" The tall brunette covers sensitive ears, trying desperately to block out the ruckus. "I TAKE IT THIS IS A BAD SIGN?"

"WARNING."

"YES... WELL, NO... BUT, YES!"

"WARNING."


	48. Chapter 48

"Just a little more..." A numb finger spreads the gel thinly across the clear surface, making sure to coat it all before intricately laying wire down, sticking into the water-based goo into a pattern much like a spider's web.

Digits trembling from exhaustion and the icy wind, he manages to attach the powersource and grips his rope and leans away from the sparking mess, teetering from the building's side until the metal melts into the glass itself, spreading into the arcs of buzzing light until it becomes one with the window, a sea of power and corded, luminous, catastrophic waves.

The electricity was loud but shattering glass is always loudest when you are the only one to hear it. No matter if you're expecting it or not.

With a towel along the rest of the pane, electric connectors and source flipped off and body grounded just in case, Saeran hoists himself into the the empty frame, unhooking from the harness and making short work of the small fall to the shard-covered terrazzo.

He hasn't the time to bask in the previous residence of his dear Savior nor scrunch his nose at the stale feminine scent masked with dust and unuse. He doesn't want to waste this opportunity given to him as a gift from god for his diligence and patience, no. Instead, sharp sage darts around this space, utensils and furniture frozen in time as if waiting for their owner to come back and use them all once more as he searches for the one thing that he came after.

Out of place in the quaintly decorated apartment is the cold and looming metal cabinets, large enough to hold a couple of grown men, comfortably conspicuous against a wall near a neatly made bed.

This has got to be it.

Saeran has no doubt.

His hand dips into his pockets, pulling a ring of keys bestowed from the Savior herself and he rushes to the lockers, jamming the marked key into its hole and turning.

"C'mon, you dick..." For a moment, the door sticks and denies the disciple entrance. But with a few extra tugs and a kick, the scraping whine of unoiled hinges grants Saeran access to what lies within.

"...What ...the ...shit...?" Inside, colored wires wound in coils, plastic, and tubes are the first to greet his sights.

He regrets kicking the cabinet, that's for sure.

This is...

Well, it isn't what he's looking for, so should he really be fucking around and staring at the thing like an asshole? No, he can think it over once he's gotten what he came for.

Lower and lower he scans and comes up with nothing.

Next.

This one doesn't require such harsh treatment, thankfully and he pulls it open with ease. It's innards are not nearly as impressive nor intimidating, only housing a few summer dresses of pastels and lace, strappy shoes line the shelves along the bottom and he doesn't spare it another glance, moving to the last locker.

This one, for sure.

It's smaller, more of a safe than the others, but it's anchored to the wall and at second glance thicker than the others. Wasting no time, impatiently the man dials in the quint-code and shoves the key into it's slot ,twisting, nearly yanking the door from its bindings in his haste.

Ahh~.

Jackpot.

It is just as his lovely Savior said it would look.

A single tiny briefcase , more like a jewelry box, sits at the foot of the otherwise empty space. Thick bands circle the thing, heavy padlocks cinch them and a code lock peeks from beneath the leather handle.

Smothered by black fabric, Saeran's lips twitch, a grin growing as he snatches up the small but weighty payload and stuffs it into the bag slung onto his back.

It's time to leave, get the fuck out of here in case Luciel has noticed his little invasion. The disciple certainly doesn't want that impressive toy from the first cabinet to activate nor does he want to use the switch stashed against his chest.

He's got places to be, people to be with and a family, with the assistance of this sack of precious information, to help grow and prosper.

Bombs have no place in his to-do list.

Shards of thick glass grind into the floor as Saeran stomps through their remains to lift himself onto the counter top. With a few deft swipes, harness secured and the rest of the prickling rope wrapped around his hand and dangling through his legs, he climbs out of the small broken frame. As each foot bounds against the outside wall, the disciple rappels down, down as quickly as possible. His palms ache, burning with the slide of rough braided twine as he continues his descent.

Every breath hurts. His ribs sting with cramp, his lungs cold and dry with the chill of the season, breathing is a chore that comes and goes by force and barely contained hacks and wheezes and huffs.

Beneath the soles of each boot, the rough and pebbled surface scrapes lines in the rubber when he slips, taking skin when he drops before righting his stance. His flesh is raw, it throbs, bleeding in beads but his heart takes the most damage, beating bruises inside his chest when he made the mistake of glancing at the ground, so far away from his dangling feet.

Slower.

He can't rush this now and risk failing.

"Those... Fucking... Cameras...!" Saeran seethes through grit teeth, arms shaking, tired and sore. His body is overheated, slick with a thin sheen of perspiration even as the atmosphere shows in steaming clouds from his nostrils and mouth with every exhale.

Had he the luxury of deactivating the cameras this time around, he wouldn't have to do this. Wouldn't be a drop away from being a puddle of death on the sidewalk; he wouldn't have had to dangle from this stupid rope...

One more floor to go.

Almost...

More slack, wider steps.

Almost...

The moment his feet hit the asphalt, he doubles over, allowing just a moment of calm before he begins to run. Rapid feet pounding on the cement, darting corners and past the straggling few drunkards decorating the otherwise quiet night streets.

He goes to cross the intersection, taking a shortcut to the garage his SUV is housed in, but a sports car comes barreling through all loudly rumbling engine and screeching tires, before Saeran even takes a step.

He eyes it, half expecting it just to be another drunk heathen in a hurry. But, beyond the glare of streetlamps and blur of speed a shock of red and bespectacled amber forces him to stop.

It hurts. Breathing hurts, moving hurts... But the cackles bubble out, unrestrained, like shards of glass digging in and ripping his throat to shreds.

He's won this one, 'Luciel.'

Give up.

Soon, your little band of frauds will be torn apart. The innocents will join Magenta's family, and that liar, that silver-tongued traitor will be left all alone.

So soon.

The day when Saeran will extend a hand of mercy to his brother is so close. With that hand, he will end that boy's miserable life.

He won't be able to betray anyone else.

Both Luciel and V wont be able to cause any more harm, Saeran vows to himself as the grin makes his cheeks ache and his legs pump harder, nearing the garage and his way back to you. He pops a tablet to tide him over for the drive, letting it melt over his tongue; allowing the bitterness to overcome every tastebud.


	49. Chapter 49

Ten minutes? Fifteen, maybe? God, too slow! TOO SLOW!

Has anyone seen his text message? Granted, he knows they were sloppy, typed out in a panic and probably riddled with mistakes but, they at least read off semi-legible...

Maybe?

They won't open up the messenger for the time being, right?

Seven has to believe. He doesn't have the time to fuck around.

Drive.

Drive, get there and make sure that the special security won't blow the complex and it's other residents to smithereens before he can get it turned off and figure out WHY this is happening now.

God... This seriously couldn't have come at a worse time...! Vanderwood, ...hopefully they can handle spectating the shit-storm bound to hit. At least the hacker will have the opportunity for an ample heads-up if the agency happens to slap a price-tag on his back.

R-Right...?

Rubber skids against road in an ear-piercing shriek as Luciel leans into a sharp turn, the smell of burning tires and oil sticks heavy in his throat as his heart beats violently in his chest.

One more turn and then it's just a straight shot to the building. Fuck proper parking, screw street-side etiquette... So close and yet, still so far. It feels like it's taking an eternity to get there!

Out of the corner of his eye, he sees a midnight jogger and slows just a bit to make sure he doesn't kill anyone on the way to keeping people from being killed.

Is it really so cold out to need a face-mask?

Shit.

He only just managed to shrug into a jacket.

Finally, the rotary door and awning is in sight. Hand twitching at the shift, he pushes it up and into park the moment he slams on the brake, turning and yanking the keys from the ignition. The jagged metal digs into the fatigue-sensitive meat of his palm as he uses his fist to push open the door and slam it shut. Thankful he'd prepared and slung his bag over his shoulder and drove with it in his lap, he runs straight for the entrance without so much as a second look back, confident that he has all the necessities. 

"Come on..." The hacker bounces from foot to foot, waiting for an in and pondering whether or not he should just break the damned turning glass so he can just get going already. "COME ON!"

Deciding against it for fear of further exposure to the public eye, whomever may be out, Luciel just shakes it off and ducks in at the nearest opportunity, hoping not to get caught.

He's banking on it having some sort of sensor, so that things don't turn nasty. He's right and mutters winded gratitude to the lord when his sneakers squeak as he opts for the stairs, laptop bag and all its padded edges ramming into his spine with every jolting step.

He can't risk getting stuck in the thing, can't risk not having internet access or power in that insulated box of wood paneling and metal. No, instead he has to waste breath and precious seconds, minutes to climb over a dozen flights.

Damn it!

This just has to be difficult, huh?

Any other time, he would laugh this kind of thing off.

But, this shit right here? It's not funny. Things blowing up in real life, not funny. This isn't a stupid action flick with over-exaggerated special effects.

Measured even breaths fuel the man's lungs as his knees lift and flights pass by in a blur of carpeting and barely processed angles. His cargo jostles with clicks and muffled thuds as the edges of his jacket flutter, making the zipper give off little jingles with the shock of each downed shoe.

This is real.

There is a bomb in a building where small children are snug just down the halls from their loving parents. They could be cuddling with a sibling, giggling into the wee hours of the morning about pure little things that make them happy. They could be snoring softly into the warm fur of their beloved pet or even just surrounded by haphazardly strewn pillows.

There are young professionals just getting started in the career of their dreams. There are people celebrating birthdays, anniversaries, or tearfully mourning the loss of loved ones. There could be a young woman fretting about the perfect way to tell her husband or wife that she's finally pregnant after all the heartache and failed attempts.

These people, they are supposed to have so much more ahead of them.

These are real lives, unknowingly resting heavy upon his shoulders.

And Luciel is running his fastest, pushing his muscles to the limit to make sure that those lives aren't endangered any further than he's...

...Right. That's right...

This is all his fault.

No, he's not some hero.

This is his burden to bear.

It's HIS explosive that's hidden away and ready to go off. He has to be responsible for each and every life at stake, no matter how much his sides are cramping or how his lungs burn on the edge of wheeze and asphyxiation by over-exertion.

All Luciel is... all he CAN be is damage control.

So, like hell is he not going to control the damage he's already caused. He's gonna shut it down, fix it up and figure out just what the hell is going on.


	50. Chapter 50

Through echoing scuffles and startled gasp, the bustle of busy bodies and soft snores of presumed nights, V has made rounds in this mansion, guided only by the faint lines of mortar between stone and pebbled paint upon drywall and plaster. Gently the blind man has shuffled past frames and pillars, pedestals topped with sculptures and survived each obstacle with no more than a sidestep and sweeping, unsure tips.

Long has vanished the sweet patters of his beloved's stride. Long faded has her scent and that glow that beckons him is even dimmer still. How long has he been walking?

Has he been circling?

Really, it makes no difference.

His ears are perked, his senses keen on whatever traces he can gather.

V will find her.

He always has.

Always will.

Though his body tires, blisters forming at the arches of his feet and heels, the muscles of his thighs cramping, his calves tight and aching, on he walks; hoping to uncover just a hint of that glow and the warmth that resonates so deeply within.

He knows it's there.

He's felt it.

Sleep can wait until he can bask in that faint, flickering heat once more.

There are voices. Familiar voices drifting along the corridor to his left, they carry akin to whispers or the faint hiss and crackle of flames and like a moth, he's drawn ever closer. This hiss, this crackle, this hushed whisper that has fought its way into the blinded man's ears; it's a recognizable sort, one that clenches tightly in his chest, the other that sets his heart alight.

A single raw palm runs the stretch of wall, keeping him on target and upright and his legs follow the path in forward, careful treads. Softly does each one land, practically silent to his own senses as those incoherent wisps become words of inflection and emotion, as each pause in sentence becomes more distinct and less like a constant flow of static.

"I had to leave some equipment behind, but everything you asked for should be there, my Savior." There's a rustling of cloth against skin and a clicking clank and thunk as something is placed on the hard floor, something about this makes his blood run cold as further he pushes himself forward.

"I'm impressed with your work, dear. You've done very well." A sigh melds with the smile of a hum and V quickens his pace. "You should go wash and rest now. I'll take care of the rest from here, Saeran."

"Savior! Your vision is so close to becoming a reality... I'm honored that you trusted me to help bring it to life. If you need anything else, please-"

Stinging and tingling tips hit nothing but cool air and V stumbles, feet clopping haphazardly in attempt to keep him upright.

He feels that gaze; it burns, raising the hair along his covered forearms and shaking limbs as goosebumps rise in the after-chill.

"Who's out there?" He nearly flinches at the harshness dripping from that sweet voice as it cuts through, echoes ringing in his very bones, but instead of shrinking away, he finds that elusive door frame and steps in.

A growl and sigh greets his audacity though nothing follows but huffed air and silence. V can imagine that dainty hand of his Rika, fingers splayed to halt the angry younger man's words.

"So... it's you." Bemused and dull as they leave her, Rika's attention on him feels like rolling waves refreshing his senses from the monotonous fog of relentless search.

He's found her. He really did it.

"Saeran, dear, you may go."

"Do you need me to-?" The question barely leaves the young disciple's mouth before a placating hum of refusal fills in the gaps.

"It won't be necessary. There are some things I'd like to discuss with... him."

Oh how his heart aches with nerves and a mix of emotion that swells to spilling within his chest.

The exhaustion, the wandering, being lost within the void of darkness... Every hardship is worth these simple moments of knowing that his Rika will speak with him; will hear him.

A grumbling scoff tickles his ear as Saeran seems to pass, followed by a distant weary sigh that trails him from the hall.

Right here, right now it is just Rika and V.

That emerald stare sends prickles to his nape and warmth spreads through his limbs as if he'd just sat by a toasty hearth, melting from the cold of a white winter's day.

"Rika..." All of his searching, his fumbling like a newborn babe, the whispers and snores and shouts from unknown mouths from faces unseen, it's all he can do just to say her name, as croaked and dry as it may be.

"Yes, V... I'm here." Those dainty pink lips yawn out her words, "I won't discredit the attempts you've made in your state. I'm... quite impressed."

"I-"

"Make no mistake though, I will not break my family or this home apart merely for some rumor, nor do I intend to change our ways...

God's way.

He's given his children this chance to purify themselves, fulfill themselves, to further themselves by accepting them into eternal paradise; and it is of their choice, no other."

"Rika..." The blind man chances a step forward on knees that shake and muscles that refuse to cooperate. "I understand what you are trying to do, but... There has to be another way. They don't have to die... They shouldn't have to die."

"You say you understand..." It's barely a harsh breath, but V feels every grit in her inaudible tone. "But they are choosing to leave me, to leave this place for the Afterworld. It's a better place, one without the taint of heathens and their twisted ways. They no longer suffer like the rest of us; breathing in this polluted air, living every day knowing that the heathens are out there and they're hurting each other for fun. They know nothing of God, they know nothing of peace."

"There's no difference between good and evil unless there are beings that represent both, my love..." He gulps as best as he can, trying to send strength to his voice that can't seem to hold, breaking into wheezed air that clumps in his throat. "It is the way life was designed, a balance that should neither tip the scales one way or the other. But, Rika, if these people keep 'ascending' there will be nothing left but the heathens you so despise...

If only they could stay on within our realm, teach this love and peace that you speak of-"

"V. I am not a child and I don't appreciate your redirection. The children of Magenta bound for Heaven are nothing like the tainted souls damned to be lost. They have direction, have served a purpose... They aren't HER... I'm not her..." He can almost taste the insinuation in her chastising spatter and words still left unspoken. His neck prickles and stomach churns in the distasteful childhood memory that arises in dim flash of bare feet hanging above designer shoes and a hand-carved chair that lay in front of a ink-splashed canvas like trash upon the floor. "Besides, soon I will have the world at my fingertips. Ears from neighboring nations to pass my message onward." A short and airy chuckle escapes her and the blinded man tenses further.

"... Rika, what...? What do you mean by that?"


	51. Chapter 51

Click, click.

So slowly, sluggishly does the time seem to pass. Dinner with the kids seemed to last an eternity and yet, only took up thirty minutes.

It is both amazing and dreadful how many things can be done in a half an hour. Mountains of potato topped with gravy can be demolished with a rock-fall of snow peas, rivers can flood, empires can fall, an entire fairy-tale book can be read and bellies can be filled.

Oh, how fast can you doodle an entire being when you are just sitting and waiting nervously. Sketches that would normally only take a true form in hours can take shape in a mere fifteen minutes, while coloring and shading it to completion can take only ten.

Novels can be skimmed, finished and combed back through in a mere twenty, topped with an overall opinion thought out and pondered.

Click, click.

Naps won't work, your nerves are just a jumbled, frazzled mess without the comforting heat that usually conforms to you in that bed.

Too cold.

Too empty.

So here you are, wasting away blankly in front of some video-sharing site, letting auto-play show you the wonders of a world you would have never dared search. You lounge in his chair, feet tucked beneath your crossed legs as you let yourself sink into the cushions the disciple has worn with use. You only move to click out of pesky advertisements.

You don't know why you bother; aren't you trying to pass the time? It would only make sense to watch those too... But you don't, because when have you ever made any sense?

Whatever.

At this very moment, you are fascinated. Sickened, slightly nauseous but... oh so very fascinated. You can't seem to tear your eyes away from the things unfolding on the bottom-most center monitor.

And it all started when you looked up a single cat video.

How did you get here from there?

It will forever be a damn mystery.

The want to click away is there, but the will, that's another story completely. Instead, you let your eyes rest on yet another slow-motion pore strip peel, allowing the bile in your stomach to flip to the beat of the out of place techno pulsing in your ears. 

While away the seconds, let them tick-tick-tick on.

"What the ever-loving fuck are you-" Your eyes snap wide open, you don't even wait until the chair is completely turned around when you launch yourself from the seat and straight into the owner of the disturbed voice.

You don't need to see to know who it is.

You feel it.

You know it.

"SAERAN!"

You knock his ass to the ground.

"Oof!"

"Ugh, god, I'm sorry... I didn't meant to-" Your breath catches at the sight of him. "-What the hell happened?! Jesus!"

There are scrapes and lines of dried blood caked from brow to chin, bruises and scratches littering what you can see of his neck, his jacket and pants are scuffed and frayed in spots, but the narrowing of his eyes and the twitching of his mouth worries you.

Electronic beats and synthesized drops fill the atmosphere as his chest puffs out a closed chuckle, you go to remove yourself from your lean on him but his cold hands hold you firmly in place.

"I did it, Lamb." He shows no signs of distress when you trail your fingertips along the painful-looking rise of his flesh nor does he offer any other explanation as to how it happened, he just lays in the place you jumped him, giggles breaking his shuddered breathing, sage gaze glazed over and looking through you.

"Hey."

"The Savior has all she needs from that place."

"Saeran?"

"All that is left is to bring them to ruin. To destroy them both."

"Saeran."

"I just need to kill him. I need to remove him from this earth, then I won't have to think about him anymore. I won't have to remember. I won't have to worry... No one will."

"Hey."

"And then, when the time comes, I can ascend peacefully knowing that he is rotting in a deep pit of Hell as I make a home in Paradise-"

You crush your lips to his. It's not gentle and you didn't intend it on being that way. Your nose and forehead presses to his own with a bruising force. You couldn't handle hearing any more of his destructive thoughts. You can't stand hearing him want to condemn someone else by playing judge and jury; didn't want to think of him with bloody hands laughing above the corpse of his own brother or the other man he keeps bringing up.

You don't want to imagine his ascension.

Right here, right now you want him to acknowledge your existence. You need him to factor you in somewhere within that revenge-soaked mind.

It was grueling enough just to spend a few hours away from the disciple, not knowing what was happening or when he'd be back... If he'd be back.

You can't think about him leaving you indefinitely.

No, you stake your claim on him, pulling his bottom lip through your teeth. You suck on the thing, tasting the blood and chill of night on its dry surface before letting it slip free and pressing your mouth back to his to keep his words at bay.

Desperately, frantically.

There's so much you want to convey, but you can't think of how to in any other way but this. You need to barge into his thoughts, interrupt his speech until you're sure he won't talk any more.

He needs to know; you need to tell him.

Your eyes burn, there's already a pool forming at your ducts, precariously hanging onto your flesh in wait to fall onto his. Chancing everything, you pull away and open lids you hadn't realized were clenched shut. Those sage eyes are locked on you, etched in surprise, confusion and something else you aren't entirely sure of, but it differs from the cool of his body; a kind of heat that radiates in his cheeks. Even as pale and coated in blood as he is, you can see it all clearly.

You...

Well, you have his attention.

"I'm here." You speak against him, his chap scratching at the swollen plump of your own lips. "I'm here,... don't forget about me." Pleading, you let your head fall to his pinned shoulder as nearly incomprehensibly you mutter your racing thoughts against his injured neck, tucked into the folds of his downed face mask.

"You can't leave me so soon... I'm here, too.

It's supposed to be me and you, right? You said so. You said that you were mine and I'm yours, so why do you want to leave me alone so soon.

Don't...

Please.

Don't leave me.

I can't stand the thought of you killing him and then ascending. I can't say goodbye to you yet. Don't make me do that.

I can't...

I can't..." It's so hard to catch your breath. It hurts, inhaling is a chore and exhaling burns so much that it stutters, catching in your throat.

The limp fingers around your upper arms tighten, digits curling so much that his short nails dig into you, leaving little lines of blossoming pink and white as he pushes you up yet again.

He wants to see you, to look into your soul even as you lay it bare before him. It's embarrassing, but you are so past the stage of caring about stupid details like that.

You let him see everything.

Raw.

Unfettered.

Unbearably vulnerable and trembling.

His stare is pointed, serious, brow knitted and heavy as those haunting giggles no longer wrack his form, replace by heavy breaths and flared nostrils.

"I'm not like him." Chin lowering, his look is deep into your own. "I won't abandon you... You know that... I...

I'm better than him." The last sentence is no more but a whisper but you catch every single syllable.

"But, damn it, what does that even MEAN?!" Your jaw is shaking, it's so hard just to speak. "You still plan to kill him and then your purpose is complete... And then what? You'll ascend and leave me... That's how it works, Right?

But...It's not...

You can't be better than him when you're planning to sink lower... I just... I don't understand..." And you're scared; terrified of whom the disciple is trying to become, knowing that in one sense or another, the Saeran you know now...

He'll disappear anyway.

You can't hide, as much as you want to look anywhere but into those stormy sage, you're trapped. Nightcore pulses and high-pitched vocals now blare from the speakers, the beats matching the race of your heart as he says nothing back, lines and muscles contort his pallid and spattered face in just a few moments.

Silent moments that suffocate.

His grip on you deepens, it hurts and you gasp at the new pressure, thankful for it.

"I won't leave you."

"You kill him and... yes, you will. I-" You hear him, and yet you don't. The feelings you keep spouting are drowning him out.

"Stop."

"-know it! You can't tell me that-" You know you should let him say his peace, but he needs to hear you too.

"Lamb..."

"-it won't change you. It will. If you are better, you don't have to prove it by becoming a murderer! How does that even make sense? And...-" When he moves his lips, it only spurs you on. Your mouth moves quicker, tongue desperately formulating sentences the best you can manage as you speak over his faint echo-like interruptions.

"I can't make any promises to you when it comes to my brother. But-"

"-I don't think I could ever sit by and watch you willingly die... Don't do that to me... please don't make me smile and congratulate you just to watch you slip away." Barely do you eek out the rest. You are huffing, throat closed up and dry.

"Hey, hey... Stop..." Finally, his words reach. But already you sink, defeated by a future you are sure he'll chase.

"I can't..." You collapse, even against his strong hold. Your face is burning, stinging thanks to salted tears and the force of over-speaking. Threads of his scarf-like mask tickle, soaking up the evidence as you breath him in with strangled gasps and stuttering sniffles.

This is pathetic.

Didn't you promise yourself long ago not to rely on others? And yet here you are, still clinging.

Still lost.

Still dependent.

Still lacking everything needed in order to hold on and even more so... unwilling to let go.


	52. Chapter 52

It's that familiar cold pit that burrows holes in your stomach that propels you, the urgency of the pull of your lungs, the agonizing burn of your throat that feeds into your need; your desperation.

You are worthless in that you have nothing more to offer in order to keep him. There isn't much you can do to invade his thoughts and to change his mind, but you're already moving out of habit; this is your true nature, after all.

A creature that thrives only when in the spotlight of your desire's view. Fragile trash that tries to shine as brightly as diamonds and glitter just to make him happy; happy enough to give up on the hate.

Those beautiful things...

You are neither.

Your nose nudges the frayed fabric hanging at Saeran's neck away. That metal and earthen twang of his blood and sweat assaults what is left of your good senses.

"Saeran..." You could have easily lost him. The disciple could have just as easily not returned. Your own grip on his shoulders tightens as your lips find purchase on damp, heated flesh.

He gasps, chest shuddering in the most heady of ways. "Wha- Lamb, what are you...?"

You want.

You are selfish.

You're frantic.

You need.

You crave the taste of him; to hurt him in the ways you know he likes and please him... to make him forget everything in this world, besides you. You want to satisfy him in the only ways you know how.

You yearn for proof that he's still alive, that this isn't just some fever-dream brought on by too many hours spent staring into static. Proof that he's warm and breathing, truly here in front of you and safe.

You desire for him to stay that way.

"H-hey..." No more revenge. No hatred. You want to invade his thoughts, to rewrite all the bad in his memories with every brush of your tips against his ivory flesh. Each nibble to serve as a battering ram for the walls Saeran has put up; each suck targeted to break down his insecurities. "Mmnn fuck..." His words rumble low and hush in his throat in such a lovely way.

You yearn to have him drown in you, safe with you so that you can swat away all the negativity that wishes to consume him; to protect him from all the ugliness revenge and guilt will cause to rush in, like a rare mudslide onto freshly fallen snow. You can't stand the thought of him in that state.

He is pure.

A damaged soul, yet still so innocent. Even in these circumstances. Even as you crush your body to him, wrapping around him like a flimsy coat against a winter's storm. Even as you bite at him where ever your lips land; neck, collar, shoulders and back to his jaw, licking him in between each, tasting the salt of his perspiration and the startling iron lines of his minor injuries.

The reasons he's hurt, the duties he feels so fatally obligated to...

You want to wash it all away, take it into yourself and let it lay wayside to rot.

"Mnnn..." Dizzying thoughts race through your head, but you are too preoccupied to think in depth; the raspy moans that echo in the shell of your ears in blazing puffs and garbled would-be words set your nerves on fire.

Only when your ass is bruising in a line and cool plastic is gripped in your fist do you realize that you've pulled Saeran from the floor, tugged him along in your primal endeavor to silence the video-gone-neglected and bring to your parched throat that delicious water that makes all feel right.

When had you moved your hands from him?

You can't recall.

You pull away from the hot and slick skin, scarlet by your abuse, enough to sloppily fill your mouth, unfazed by the line of honeyed liquid that dribbles down your chin.

"Haaa... Haaa..." It is only when you take this moment, needy delirium melting away with every gasping breath through swollen lips, you note the sting and dull ache of fingernails curled into the back of your neck and the calloused warmth of the hacker's thumb stroking the line of your jaw.

Stunned by the power that one single digit could wield, you are awed, thrilled by the hazy half-lidded stare fixed on you, following the forceful trail as he manages to tilt you; craning your neck until it's a chore to even swallow.

But, your eyes look down your cheeks at him, taking in the depth of burning sage that is studying you.

His gaze melts you.

He fans the flames of your weak fire until you're sure there's nothing but a puddle left of you within this inferno.

And god, is it still famished.

More.

Squeezing, you allow more of the sweetened drugs to glide down your throat, aware of the hot attentions watching how the muscles work the fluid lower and lower. He yanks the bottle from your hands and you allow the rough treatment, excited, letting the thing fall onto the floor, forgotten.

Warned by only a whining growl, teeth and lips attack your sensitive and exposed flesh. a litany of slurps and smacks like an angels chorus when in any other situation would be gross. Not now... definitely not now. You could live and die a full and happy life if all it encompassed was this man, these sounds and the glorious sensations that he pulls from you with those lips, teeth and that soft and shy little tongue that is drawing lines in wet heat along your jugular and up to catch the stray droplets of sweetened medicine.

"Ahaaaa~" Pathetic mewls and breathy gasps escape your slackened and plumped lips; the embarrassing sounds dust you up to your ears in a flush of pink, but your need overrides all of that. Palms rubbing, grabbing, scraping and scoring all that is in your path once you manage to sneak into his shirt.

You aren't entirely a mindless animal though, you know what you're doing. His breath puffs out in shudders when you claw at him; he challenges you, encouraging you on a chuckle and a lick along your collar before capturing your lips and swallowing down your moans.

So warm... God, you feel so warm, and yet, all your feverish body is craving is more.

His shirt is lifted by the height of your grasp, his stomach and those delicious little abs flex the more he moves. You're so close, you can feel it. But it just isn't enough.

You could never get enough of him.

Forced by the pesky need to breathe, you are the first to break from his intoxicating kiss. Sweet and bitter, the faintest taste of blood still upon your tingling lips.

"Mmm... haaa..."Saeran hasn't let up, doesn't allow your disconnect to phase his target as his nose trails the echoes tickled humidity in open-mouthed kisses along your cheek and jaw. Calloused and scraped hands tangle deeper into your locks, pulling. You can't help the buck of your hips against the thigh that's stationed between your legs. The friction nearly makes you sputter, coming out only as a couple of little gasps.

You had a purpose... What were you doing again?

Hardly can you string a single thought together, your mind is abuzz with his scent that surrounds you, the wonderful aches he's inflicting, the heat he's ignited in sparks along your spine resounding all over as a flame in search of fuel; that boiling need sunk deep into your core wanting nothing more than to be impossibly closer to him. Barely even do you register your own breaths. Still, you wriggle against him, wanting more of that pressure.

Knowing that it is this hacker that is doing this to you... It's almost more than you can handle. You've never lost control like this and the idea is both terrifying and thrilling.

White and flame-tinged fringe fall upon your own cheeks in bunch, dried sweat and flecks of blood dirty the tresses as finally you vaguely remember, slackened, your digits soften along the planes of his slick and steaming back.

You wanted him drowning in you; wanted to make him content in your arms, in your touch.

Of course you couldn't help but to sink before him. Saeran holds so much power over your mind, your senses... But is he only doing this out of his own reflex; following along just because this is what he himself has formed in habit? Is this how he staved his mother's wrath in a past not yet fully forgotten?

"W-Wait..." It's a fight, but you gain control of your hands bringing them around, running up his lithe frame and pass over the indents of every one of those scrumptious muscles, pressing him away from you. At his resistance chasing the lost kiss, you almost cave, giving in against the disciple; your weakness, lips agape and full, respiration wracking him in rapid yet deep sway. "I..."

You feel sick.

The depth of his pupils ringed in molten sage threatens to devour you whole and a exhilarated little shiver rolls through you. But in the blues and static light bathing the disciple in the allure of night, through the lust that blinded you and the selfish needs that even still consume you, you see Saeran... Really see him.

He's hurt.

He's tired.

He's probably confused as all hell.

Besides, who are you to pull this stunt in order to make him forget? You couldn't re-direct his purposes if your life depended on it. You are both selfish and unworthy. You really should know your place, it's not like you could ever have any significant impact. You aren't enough of a permanent fix.

You are no match for the hacker.

"I'm..." It's hard to catch a breath, but you manage after a quick minute. Clearing your throat, you struggle to find words that will eek out, stunned by his still-panting visage as you lick your stinging lips. He looks dangerous, delicious covered in blood with those eyes staring at you, appraising the marks that are undoubtedly blossoming along your skin. "...sorry... for all that...?" You flick your wrist about for emphasis and clarification.

"Are you really?" Panting, he quirks a brow at you, a smug grin threatening to surface if the twitches at the corners of his mouth have anything to say.

You feel nauseous, having forced yourself on this man you care so much for. How could you?No longer are you the toddler wrapped in belts and tape, rather you are your uncle; trying so desperately, disgustingly to have these parts of him. Do you really have the right to say that you care about him, or are you just playing the part?

If so, you aren't doing a good job of it.

"Y-yeah..." How do you explain yourself? Do you expose yourself, be honest? "I shouldn't have jumped you like a creeper-rapist."

Well, half-truths count, right?

It's not as eloquent as you'd like; you took so much of the medicine, your head isn't the clearest and speech is difficult to formulate. So stuck in your self-pity and guilt, that pile of garbage that is your soul as your body cools, you almost miss the boyish chuckle behind his battered hand.

"Creeper, yeah... I can see that." Between breaths he sighs. "Rapist though? Nah."

How stupid. Your heart flutters with these weird words, picking up enough speed you worry that maybe he can hear it. But he's lying, you're sure of it.

"I literally just jumped your bones and tried to have my way with you." Deadpan, you pause for greater effect and to cover for the fact that your mouth has gone bone-dry. "Total crime."

It's not far off. You had thoughts of doing so much more; never have you spoken about such things with him, never had the kind of permissions those certain acts definitely require.

It's not right.

There is no way he'd want you in that kind of way. No matter how you hunger for him, more of Saeran; the taste of him, the feel of his body pressed against yours, how you fantasize about intimately introducing your tongue to his most sensitive and ticklish spots... He isn't some sex-toy to be used and manipulated.

Just what kind of monster are you?

"Nope." He ends the short sentence with an obscene pop, a smirk showing that straight row of teeth, incisor begging to be sunk into your fevered flesh. You are oversensitive right now shivering pleasantly to that thought, added to the surprise of amnesty and sight of such an expression amidst his bloodstained features and frayed clothes is something close to exotic; so dizzying, you have to look away. "I'm irresistible~."

At that, you give him a light-hearted glare; grateful for the redirection.

Hell, he's not wrong though.

The glare withers, weak to begin with.

"Pfft...!" And, it's gone. "I couldn't help myself." You wink, his nose wrinkles in disgust.

"Stop that." He grunts at you, lowering a heavy brow of derision upon you.

You wink again.

"Ughhh."

You do it again, yet fuck it up when you snort trying to hold in your giggles when his eyes widen around that scrunched expression.

This... this is much better. Banish it, get rid of those thoughts and that tense air.

"Shut-up~!" The whine is purposefully grating and you pinch your nostrils closed. "On another note~!

You smell like armpits and dirt, muh-guy." You stick your tongue out, pretending to shudder and gag.

It's just a cover, of course.

The man doesn't stink, really. A hint of musk and the metallic, earthy hint of his scrapes tickle your nostrils but you don't mind it. You want to take care of him; clean his wounds, dress them... dress him in crisp, laundered clothes and take away all the grime and discomfort... To erase the shameful moments you stole from his body. You feel so dirty, so guilty.

You need to cleanse him of you.

There is no need to trouble him with the awkward tension caused by your own disgrace.

You just want to make it right.


	53. Chapter 53

"Aww, don't be so alarmed, dear." Her voice silken and a touch sinister, even as the tone warms V's skin; a false facade masking cold dread. "It was you whom, only moments ago, worried about 'balance,' right?"

Dripping in delicate girlish giggles that the blind man is sure are muffled by gently cupped, perfectly manicure hands, he bows his head in wordless reprieve.

The exhaustion... it must be messing with his mind.

It has to be that.

It has to.

Matted teal locks shroud his face, each of his features etched in conflicting lines as he hunches, cane an uncomfortable and awkward pressure grating at the scrapes and blisters of the palms and slender appendages that clutch at his own bent knees for balance.

"Soon the children of Magenta will be able to compete in numbers against the droves of those filthy beings. Soon, love and peace and family will over-write history, stopping the cycle of war, famine and murder in its tracks." A soft pattering echoes through the room.

Rika is coming closer.

Or, is she really?

The ever-dwelling is far too disorienting; as his ribs ache and lungs burn heavy, V could swear he can just barely make out the silvery strokes outlining the porcelain planes of polished toes fronting the leather curve of his loafers.

"You... You can't do that... Rika, not... not like this." How those words grate upon his own ears. So weak, a weathered hiss; even if they barely ghost past his own dry, chapped lips.

It isn't the words themselves nor how they were presented that makes the blind man cringe into himself when a small, warm palm idly strokes along the tangles at his crown.

No.

It's the phantoms of an inner battle. It is the way his body leans into this 'Savior's' touch when futile, he mouths weak dispute that even he has begun to doubt.

Yet, still he holds on to the sentiment.

Rika believed that this wasn't the way... She lived in paranoia and fear for months trying to escape, tired out every resource in order to grasp at it with dull claws breaking at the root until she was left with nothing but raw and bleeding stumps, falling... Falling into this. Even if Rika is the driving force behind it all, she refuted with everything she had.

So desperately.

So completely.

He knows. V knows that all of it has found its way back into her waiting grasp once again. She's found a way around the precautions that she herself placed and gotten her hands on the sensitive details of guests past; world leaders of the entirety of both small and large countries, executives of corporate dynasty that direct the flow of economy to their whims.

The very same power she had pleaded with him to hide, to protect... Rika possesses once more.

He has failed her.

Yet, in the same breath, she speaks in a breath of contented accomplishment.

Still, with emerald orbs that glistened and over-flowed, dainty hands shook as they clutched at his own in fear...

He could never just forget that.

"That person... That person will try to take all of this..." Spilling over,tears cascaded those cheeks like the most beautiful, if not tragic, falls down scarlet flushed cheeks. "Please... Help me keep this away..." Those lips, like blossoming rosebuds, trembled as she had locked him in a flickering stare; the light in her eyes seemingly fighting tooth and nail for dominance. "It needs to be dangerous to get to... It needs to be able to be eliminated without any trace left... That person... that person can't... Listen to me carefully, V... We... We need a bomb."

That memory... She didn't want this.

But, she does.

A hate-free world.

A community that gives to one another; that helps those in need, lifting the unfortunate souls with smiles and unconditional support...

Those are the ideals in which the R.F.A was founded. And in the same vein, pulsing dutifully from the same bleeding, tortured heart is Magenta... Mint Eye.

Even in her own over-whelming darkness was his love keeping hope burning bright for him.

Mint Eye... Of course she would name a sub-chapter for him and him alone.

Rika was waiting, always waiting for V to take his place beside her.

This golden-maned queen regally awaiting her king from within a castle upon a mountain, as he slouches before her, waging a war within his own mind.

He could laugh. The blinded man could allow light-hearted trills to bubble up from the depths of his chest, no longer burdened with the heft of a double-sided past. He could submit to these ideals, so like his own; taking up that empty throne to embrace his queen.

My, how tempting is her scent, her warmth; that soft glow hidden deep within her soul.

Still, that quivering, sob-filled plea; as hush as it had originally been screams throughout his mentality every bit as frightened as it was the very day it was made.

Urgent...

Pressing.

Is it phantom touches that he is feeling right now? Resounding ghosts brushing downy lips to his forehead? Are those fingertips that trail swiveling lines down his ribs like an enthusiast fondly tinkering with the abandoned keys of an underplayed grand here in the present, or just a memory of a day once spent in the light?

V could yell. Join the voice of his beloved in an attempt to reclaim reality by reaffirming a task given from a history that haunts him so.

But... He won't.

Instead, he shivers beneath the touch, letting its heat seep into weary bones that sorely missed her attentions.

"There is nothing wrong with uniting the world, V." Rika tucks an oil-slick lock behind the sagging man's ear before cupping both cheeks, tilting unseeing eyes upon her. "There is nothing wrong with choosing when one's own life has a been a fulfilling and successful one, nothing wrong with choosing to end it without pain and join the Heavenly Father in eternal Paradise within sleep."

Knowledgeable tips thumb the flesh from behind his ear to his collar in rhythmical circles; a familiar sensation that tugs on the man's heartstrings, bringing V the rest of the way down to his knees and longing for more.

And, when she pulls his tired, dizzy head to rest upon her chest, wrapping his ragged frame with her willowy arms, he can't fight the tears any longer; sinking into his love, drowning in this scent he's been searching out for so long, basking in a warmth he wasn't entirely sure he'd ever rightfully get to feel again.

"Rika..." What else can he say? V has no words, only these feelings that are slowly ripping into him, deeper and deeper still.

Intense, they intertwine and tangle all his lines, pulling in all directions. As a puppet, it leaves him in static limbo; as a man, confused and conflicted, speechless and yearning.

"Shh... Shh..." A tender few knuckles trace his jaw. "It's okay, V. It'll all be okay..." The blonde coos down at him, humming a bit in thought. "You know, like this, petting you just so, you remind me of dear, sweet Sally.

Blind, just as you are now, but would relish my embrace and make adorable little sounds like you... Even if you aren't aware of them yourself." She chuckles, hushing it into a serene silence save for the gritty little purring whines that have apparently been pouring from V's parted lips.

He doesn't protest the observation, just enjoying the lyrical melody of her words and the pacifying sensation of her touch he's been starved for, prone and bare atop the one whom owns half of his own soul.

"Though she was suffering, she stayed with me as long as she could... Until...

Until no longer could Sally stand the pain." The man knows this story front and back, has heard it countless times... But still, he listens. Keen on these dulcet tones that dance from those lips in a sad sway.

"I didn't do what I needed to save her, V... I did nothing and she chose to die, to leave me; the cause of her suffering... But, only after loving me so completely." Hand stilling for just a moment, Rika breathes deep, most likely puckering her lips to blow away a sigh as she used to do, the blonde woman continues pensively. "Are you suffering, V?"

It isn't a question the blind man can truly answer nor does he have the faculties to. Instead, He opts for the comfort of silence.

"I'm doing all I can to make this a world we can all be proud of; building a family for all, especially those without.

I'm trying so desperately to feed the hungry mouths; to abolish our kin's pain... and yet..." She sounds about as weak and vulnerable as he, on the verge of slumber coaxed on by those lulling strokes along his head, neck and achy back.

"Will you leave me, too? After all I've done, are you still going to leave me all alone?" An airy whisper, that is all the petite woman can manage as her throat closes up on her.

It's a small, crackling breeze in which V doesn't hear, as the dull cocoon of sleep wrests him away from the fragile hold, numbing all of his remaining senses.

"You promised, V." Tears spill over odd, smile-stretched cheeks, voice quiet and flat. "You promised me you wouldn't...

Remember?

You're still a liar... Aren't you?"


	54. Chapter 54

_**A/N:**_ _Hey everyone! I'm going to have to take a week or two off from posting in order to make it to an ungodly shit-ton of appointments coming up without losing what's left of my sanity. I'm sorry for doing this so much :( You all, take care!_

The hall is just as empty and sterile as the last time that he was here. Artificial fresh-breeze fragrance fills the frigid air all around him and the ex-agent just can't shake this tension that fills him to the brim.

'Uncomfortable' is a vast and overly underwhelming understatement.

First, it was the stupid air conditioning unit kicking on that did it, nearly making him jump out of his skin. Its sudden growling whir jolted his poor heart in ways that can't be deemed normal. He'd yelped a curse then, cantankerously wondering aloud in this cavernous hall exactly why would anyone want the temperature to be any lower... It's cold enough for frost and ice patches outside...

That shit just doesn't make sense.

Right now, though...

Save for the fans keeping his laptop from overheating and the quick, rhythmical little pecks of sore fingertips atop clicking keys; the corridor is quiet.

An eerie silence. Such nihility that bounces the buzz and clacks and even his own rasping breaths right back at him in doubles and triples.

He's unnerved, stressed...

His limbs are tingling and suffering the dance of pins and needles as he sits cross-legged on this chilly floor. Seven isn't sure he even has an ass anymore, he hasn't felt it for at least an hour now.

When the sensation becomes too much to bear; pins becoming glass and needles to knives, the hacker shifts. Carefully enough he moves, enough to keep his stare locked on the text to his front and not jolt the afflicted extremities unaware; unaware that he's hooked the thick power cord with his shoe.

Sshsssss

All at once, the dangerously deep hissing it makes upon the shining surface combined with the black snake-like blur at the very edges of his uncorrected vision sets him off. Its jerking movements not registering as anything less than a threat and he freezes. Those sore yet furious hands stop all motion, fingertips hanging above the alphabet as the redhead readies himself and steeling those already frazzled nerves in order to test out his conditioned 'fight or flight' with action, borned by both desperation and necessity.

It seems like the moment stretches on and on, but in reality only a half-second of stilled fingers and paused breath passes. Luciel whips his head around, diverting from the numbers and commands within his prompt to the menace at his side.

"You've got to be fucking kidding me..." Scoffing out a relieved but prickly huff, the adrenaline drains down making the tension drip away from his tight neck and raised shoulders as once more his heart slows from its momentary, frantic race. "...Literally, the WORST time." The grumble barely makes it past clenched teeth and dry lips.

He's been at this for a couple of hours by now. Sifting through pages upon pages of code that is foreign yet crafted so similarly to his own style and methods that it makes deciphering and rerouting a headache and a half.

It's... Impressive, in the most abhorrent of ways.

A huge pain, but definitely impressive nonetheless.

Just where do his edits and additions begin and where does the assailant's end? It takes a keen eye and deliberation to interpret.

He can't enjoy the challenge it poses.

Not in this situation...

God, Almighty Father... Please have mercy upon this servant...

He's tired. The man of many names is absolutely ragged. He's worked so hard for so long from the mission he stupidly decided to undertake to plotting the agency's implosion; all for the chance at freedom, to live another day and be of some use within that forcefully borrowed time.

It was a sound plan.

And, of course, this... This is the wrench lodged deep within it.

Luciel sighs, controlled and nasal.

Had the opposing hacker not pulled this stunt, he could have been resting light; letting his digits have a break from their constant pounding as he waits for another call from V.

A call that he could have actually answered.

Locked safely behind layers of security in his bunker home, three stories underground. A place where he doesn't have to worry about bugged calls or violent threat.

He could have bidden time; enough for the agency to destroy itself and had enough distance from it all not to go down with his secretive ex-employers.

This risk... This gamble... This whole thing really; just really terrible luck.

That's what this is.

He can't help but to glance over his shoulder constantly while willing his tips urgently just to be quicker and his mind to compute accurately with the raised speed.

It's taking its toll on the ex-agent.

His skin is slick with sweat as it beads on his forehead and back and yet, it's so cold to the touch; he swipes away the moisture when he takes a hand from its aching curl at the keys, wiping the wetness from his palm on the front of his jacket before continuing on.

Goosebumps litter his clothed skin, the raised hair on his curved arms and knotted nape coax chills to roll perpetually through his sore frame, nerves sparking from all the anxious triggers echoing from all around him as he sits dwarfed in this alcove surrounded by nothing but air and haunting, reverberating sound.

Seven has to be ready and attentive to all; ever vigilant and flawless if he wants to complete the task at hand.

There is no room for error.

Any moment, flooding from both directions there could be a storm of clattering boots and guns locked onto him. Any second, waves of his previous co-workers could wash in, pissed off and ready to kill.

Have they already figured it out?

Have they tracked his phone? Bugged it?

Would Vanderwood be able to warn him of the agency's movements? Is his fellow ex-agent even keeping an eye on his back or are they only going to look out for themself? Self-preservation has always been their main concern, so maybe being so hopeful was just a pipe-dream.

No!

Stop it! God, stop that and just FOCUS, damn it!

... Though, it's not like he can blame the tall brunette. 'Trust only in yourself to do things right and count on the help of others only to disappoint.'

That is one of the agency's top mottoes; meant to encourage pristine work ethic and create strong, fearlessly independent field-bodies with a reluctance toward reliance.

He chews on the inside of his cheek, an internal sigh interrupting the rhythmic flow of his respiration as amber eyes burn from lack of blinking. The hacker's worn stare doesn't divert from the screen as he dips a shoulder and rubs away another rolling bead of sweat from his pounding temple, the muscles of his jaws tightening as his concentration pulls the red-head deeper into this tumultuous pixel ocean of symbols, numbers and letters; like undertow, a sneaky, dangerous current that wastes no time dominating him completely.

There is a lot at stake, yes; Luciel's own life being but a fraction of that bounty. But, against the latent uneasiness and dread that jitters down straight to his very bones, disarming this unstable bomb and fixing his own mistakes stand towering as first priority. Pondering 'what-if's' is just a waste of precious minutes that he just doesn't have; energy that is better spent toward his pressing goal rather than paltry hypotheticals.

It is his own haughty pride in his abilities and code that led the ex-agent to keep the same commands in place over these past few years. He didn't think, didn't even consider the possibility that someone could so completely and flawlessly punch a hole right through it.

Had he even thought to revise it? Had he the mind to?

No.

And, that is all on him. No matter how his hand is being forced, right now is the time.

God, at least this... At the very least, give him this.

Let him deactivate this hazard so that the innocent lives scattered throughout this building get to live another day.

Lord, please allow him to mend this; to scrub away this failure with the dexterity and wisdom that he has been blessed with.

When this is done, be the situation what it may; this hacker will do what he must. And, with the knowledge that at least one other has escaped the storm caused by the agency's demise, Vanderwood will never owe Seven a thing.

Though, he probably won't ever tell them that, of course.


	55. Chapter 55

Plip, plip, plop.

A steady stream of droplets race into the filled tub with every dab you make to Saeran's scraped and bloodied face, carrying a pinked current to the white bubbles that you insisted upon.

As congratulations.

As an apology.

As a way for you to pamper this tired disciple and tend to his injuries.

Plip, plip, plop.

This is probably the first bath that you haven't taken with him. The thought is a sore one, but... You don't trust yourself.

"I told you I was fine." You know he's trying to erase the silence, you don't have words to offer him right now. Nothing that you can verbalize, anyhow. "As you can see, it really isn't that bad."

Still, you stay focused on the irritated, raised skin as you pat away the red that is flecked about like chipped paint and sticking fast.

Plip, plip, plop.

More still, tinted rivers flow down the kaleidoscope of cream and bruised flesh; past the disciple's jaw, splitting in lines that trail his neck, back, chest and one little droplet that clings to the dip in his collar. It draws your gaze, its halted journey so near the divets of broken skin making a circle around a deep purple that blossoms like a flower's petals. Lackluster, the cloth in your hold barely brushes at him now as you gulp, taking in the sight of your own work marring his body.

Like a brand... an impurity.

Still, stray dribbles free themselves from the fabric wound around your digits, falling to join the warmth of the pool below.

Plip, plip, plop.

It's significant in its insignificance, trumping the thick hush in the room of your own unspoken guilt; cacophonous in this clean room filled with your filth. It strengthens your resolve. Setting your jaw, you work the dampened material around the scrapes and cuts on the hacker's body once again, careful to avoid the marks that you've caused.

"So~... I'm glad you couldn't go." He breathes the words on a sigh, you can only hum your acknowledgement. Too much of a coward to have faith in your own voice. "It took a lot more juice to open her up and a shit-ton of climbing involved. My arms feel like fucking jelly.

But hell, that's not even the worst part. Holy shit, seriously... You... You don't know how glad I am that you decided to come with me instead of going in." Your hand pauses its movements as you hum in question, briefly looking at his face that is now home to a distant stare pointed at some unknown point in the wall ahead. "They rigged the place with a bomb, Lamb...

I-I didn't know... I had no clue. Opened a door and 'Bam!' there it was in all of its potentially exploding glory." The light returns to those sage eyes and you are quick to busy yourself with the worst of his injuries, yours.

Again you dip the rag into the soapy suds and water and again, you squeeze out the excess.

Plip, plip, plop.

He laughed these gouges and bites off.

You bit him, scratched at and gouged him. His blood has coated your tongue and you relished the taste of him. You were so serious, ready to do anything to claw your way inside of his head; to force this unlabeled relationship into the next levels... Something so nice as companionship, affection without conditions...

You were willing to defile it; you were going to debase and ruin it with that dirty mouth and vulgar, used, worn body of yours. It is the only way you know to please, but you at least have the decency not to make excuses.

Your vision is blurred and yet clear in this moment, palm and fingers working soft but absently as you allow yourself to indulge in the truths once more. Even if you are shameless and disgusting, you can admit your wrongs.

Plip, plip, plop.

"Yo~..." A wet, raw and battered hand shoots up from the water, grasping at your own, stopping your own mechanical movements so tenderly. "You going to actually talk to me... or what?"

You try to stop the twisting of your features, schooling them to a safe neutral not wanting to betray the train of thoughts streaming through your mind and spare the disciple a curious glance as if you don't already know what he's talking about.

And then, you look away wishing you hadn't done it in the first place.

He knows. Of course he does. Those sage pools are dull with the worry that you were hoping not to cause in the first place, but did so anyway. Again. Always, your words and actions concern him, you make him expend too much energy on you.

Such an exhausting wasted effort... That's what you are.

"Enough, lil' one." He gives you a sympathetic smile and it doesn't feel good to see it. A new shock of guilt kindles within your chest, heart heavy and stomach sick, knots tangling in the pit of your gut. "I don't know what kind of dumb-shit thoughts you're trying to torture yourself with now, but..." The water in the tub sloshes and splashes about as his loose fist breaks its surface and he gives your forehead a gentle little flick. "Stop it."

A sarcastic snort tries to escape, but you bite it back with the straightest face you can manage. Hell... If only things were that simple, right? To just... Stop. Simplicity is nothing but a pipe-dream.

He doesn't deserve the attitude so you keep it locked up tight. Instead, you follow the angry lines of crimson that peek around Saeran's exposed sides and trail up, interconnecting with others in both an alluring and alarming cross-hatch that leaks diluted scarlet with the liquid that flows down the length of his spine. Such vibrant scores alike ribbon against skin like ivory or porcelain, stretching taut across that lithe, well-built back and curving with the blades of his shoulders... It makes your blood sing, calling its rush loudly in your ears as liquid heat pulses through your veins yet your chest fills more fully in that heavy cold, monstrous... Ashamed.

Because you know he wears your marks ridiculously well and that fact alone is upsetting.

You can't help but to be thrilled. To have this little signature dug into his skin, a work of art; a memento of such a selfish yet satisfying claim. Bruises and cuts, violent and vicious caused by a fiery thrum of need and intoxicating gasping breaths. These wounds scream 'HE IS MINE;' your own territorial declaration that is both intensely erotic and emotionally terrifying.

You aren't jealous; not of people, not anymore. This... This is different.

You know he's staring at you. You can feel his focus as if it were one of his palms cupping your cheek, ardent and tangible. He's too generous... Too understanding.

Did... Did his mother pull the same type of things that you did? Did he learn to forgive so easily as a child that loved his mother unconditionally without thought toward her actions? Did she ever sit back on her haunches and admire the evidence of her existence upon his small body as he stared at her with tears threatening to spill from big eyes down bruised cheeks? Did she feel just like this; wanting to make them deeper; claim him further?

Did Saeran's mother want him to see only her, the same way that you do right now?

You feel so sick. The rising bile is practically sticking to the back of your throat, stinging it, clogging it, making it burn.

"Talk to me." The hacker's mumbled words bring the room back into focus, if only through swimming sight. "You know you can tell me anything... Just say something."

Water no longer drips from the rag that has gone cold and near dry. His hurt digits are still wrapped around yours. You chance a glimpse at him through wet and clumped lashes, cheeks numb and mouth lax. You're pretty sure you look mighty dumb right now but honestly... What can you say?

More importantly, how should you say it?

You feel like a monster.

"For the record..." He growls, the disciple's brows are heavy and screwed up in a complex scowl above those telling pools of sage, swirling with so much more than the irritation his tone betrays. "I really fucking hate that look of yours.

Its always there because you're hurting yourself and you know how I feel about that... Tell me, talk to me... I can't do anything if you don't."

Why should he have to do anything to make you feel better, though? He's the victim here! Too far. You've gone way too far and now... In those clouded depths an anxiety screams silently; a fear that centers around you. There's such a slight shake to those beautiful irises that you've placed, a novel moment that you would have missed had you still been focused on anything else. In this way, you've made him feel powerless, helpless.

Did he look at that woman like this, too?

This strong man that carried you up nearly half a mountain and nursed you back to full health, this kind man that brought you into the fold of his large unrelated family and taught you their ways... Saeran has listened to the details of your past without batting an eye or crinkling his nose in disgust; right now, he is scared and you are the root of it.

"Seriously, the fuck, Lamb?! Snap the hell out of it!" A hapless smile that you didn't know was curling at the corners of your lips fall as he headbutts you. It's not hard, it doesn't hurt and his voice isn't nearly as harsh as the words being said, those eyes though... They're shaking even more. He looks so vulnerable. So small and lost. "Quit fucking looking at me like that and...

Stop being weird as shit and talk."

You can't have that. Never once have you wanted him to fear anything about you. No one has ever looked at you like that and you aren't about to start the trend now.

"I couldn't have climbed." You offer in an airy voice, cracking with the lack of use.

"Uh... What?" Of course he's confused, you conveniently ignored the last few minutes of conversation, backtracking in your normal, random-ass fashion.

But hey, it's something.

"I seriously suck at climbing ropes." Shrugging, you stand up to go retrieve the first-aid kit in one of the cabinets and a towel for good measure. "That was what, fourteen or fifteen stories? I probably would have splat, haha~"

A few steps echo back and you return with a plastic case in hand and fluffy blue fabric tucked in the crook of your elbow. You crouch back down, draping the towel over Saeran's shoulders before opening the kit and getting to work setting aside all the gauze and ointment, tape and bandages that you need.

"Look, I see what you're doing here and I'm not going to play into it." Hissing when you use your fingers to spread the ointment into his cuts, the hacker side-eyes you. "Will you just tell me what's got you acting all quiet and shit? Or... Am I just gonna have to make guesses?

We'll be here alllll day~ I've got all the time in the world." You glance at his features donned in a mischievous grin before plopping some of the antibacterial gel on his scraped up cheek with a slimy plop.

"You'll prune." You snort glibly.

"So what?"

He shouldn't waste his breath on you. You're torn. Would he get upset if you bring up what just happened again? How would he react if you asked him if you reminded him of that woman? Would he deny it, or would it be a glass-shattering revelation that would ruin... this...? You really did a number back there, huh?

So selfish. You know you did something bad. You know damn well that you don't merit those caring looks and that smile. You want to keep it all and you're scared that you are right. You don't deserve to have anything to do with him, but you are afraid of losing everything.

You promised him that you'd be honest with him. Is it still lying if only by omission? You sigh as you hold a square slip of gauze on the worst part of his face, using a bit of medical tape to secure it.

Of course it is.

Gingerly you line the indented gashes on Saeran's neck left by your teeth, unaware of the way a pretty little shiver rolls along his spine or the way his lungs hitch, solely concentrated on what to say, how to start. Your eyes linger on that beautiful yet ugly mark, even moments after you make it disappear behind the beige plaster and treated cotton now sticking in its place.

"Is it because... you had to stay here?"

"Huh?" Wait, what...? Ohhhh... Oh yeah, you took too long and now he's just guessing. Tick-tock, you're wasting his time and energy. "Yes and no, but mostly no...

Just...

Can you give me a little bit to gather words? Talking is hard and explaining myself is nearly fucking impossible." He grunts at you before nodding a bit and you're grateful for it; for him to allow you to squander a few more seconds.

"Yup..."

"Fucking useless..." Under your breath you admonish yourself as absently you ponder wrapping Saeran's entire torso in bandages due to the scratches you left littering his back.

Why are you like this?

"Nope."

"What are y-?!" Growing irritated and panicked with your lack of medical knowledge, you snap at the unexpected reply.

"-I said 'nope,' dip-shit. Can't you hear?" When he flips his chin and your gaze meets his upside-down face sporting a quirked brow, the spiked nerves and heavy chest seems to lift, all but vanishing. You can't help the lost, watery smile that plays at the tight line of your lips. "Knowing your dumb ass, you're probably~ talking about yourself.

I'm just gonna have to stop you right there and shut that shit down. Please, do continue, though. I'm allllll ears and annoying, interrupting peanut-gallery, at your service!" The disciple sticks out his tongue and you give an ugly, thick chuckle at it.

"Put your head back right, dork." Your palm pushes at the crown of his skull until no longer do you have those eyes on you, but with the loss of them, your anxiety rises once more.

God, you fucking hate this.

"I..." You start, but where do you want to go with this? Shit.. Questioning every little thing will get you nowhere. Just talk. Ramble on like you always do, he can get the gist from that, right? "I... just don't want you to leave me-"

"We've been over this," he sighs, "I won't aban-"

"No, you don't get it... Not really." Saeran seems to ponder this, his head tilts only slightly; not enough to see you from the corner of his eye but just enough for you to make out the angle of his jaw and the very tip of his nose. "You want revenge, I get that. The people that hurt you really fucked you up... I couldn't imagine the things you've been through, the horrors you've seen and the hell that you have probably created in your own head." You don't know when you started petting through the wet locks stuck to his scalp, but you don't stop once you've noticed it either. "But letting go of enough emotion to be able to end someone else's life... You'd be snuffing yourself out right along with them.

I'm fucking terrified of losing you and everything that makes you, you." Only a nasally exhale is your response... That's okay, you aren't done yet. Far from it, in fact.

Your tips stroke lighter and lighter until they just barely touch the damp strands any longer. A twisting in your gut screams through your brain to stop; that you are a vulgar, primitive barbarian that doesn't have the right to caress this man in such double-sided ways. And, you listen, pulling away so that your hand hovers prone, yet tingling for more contact. You don't give in.

"... I'm so scared of you leaving me, leaving this, whatever it is that we have, that I would do anything to keep you... But the only things I know are the... things... I've been taught by my own experiences. You aren't like them...

Fuck, I know, I KNOW I should never compare you to them, but... Damn it,

Ha~... this is all going to shit, isn't it?" Your laugh is hollow and humorless, pained and guilty. "I'm more like they are than you. I shouldn't have ever- I couldn't help-" Huffing and lost for words, you give in, letting your cool hands rest on the disciple's warm bare shoulders as your forehead only just leans against the back of his head.

"Did... Did I remind you of her?" Barely does the question ghost past your lips. Still, he tenses at the implication.

"FUCK NO." You jump a bit, the volume of a single word so loud in this room, it reverberates, resounding in your very bones. "No, fuck that. You aren't anything like that bitch." He's almost seething, growling a bit.

"But I-"

"I SAID NO!" Beats of the last syllable hang around within the newfound silence, you've bitten a hole into your cheek; the pain a coppery sting that keeps you grounded in this moment, present instead of inside of your own mind. "Don't ever fucking compare yourself to that... thing... You've never..." Timbre weakening, his sentence dies off.

"Saeran... I've hurt you." When he goes to refute, you cover his mouth with your hand and keep on, "I even tried to fuck you to get what I wanted, without any word of consent... Shit, I don't even know if I'm your type, you know?

And, when I look at the marks I've made on you..." Your words tickle the shell of his ear like the purr of a contented cat, vision clouding, wishing if only for a second that that bandage wasn't there so that you could admire the splash of color and scar on his creamy skin. "I just want to make more...

I just want you to see me. Only me... I'm greedy, Saeran. And, I'm forcing my stupid desires onto you." Straightening, you let go of him and put yourself a safe distance from him in unsteady backwards scuffles. "It's not right... I really isn't alright... I wanted to make you forget your purpose so that I could keep you to myself, just the way you are. But...

I'm so fucking stupid.

I'm sorry."

"..." Finally, he turns in the tub to face you, water swirling and sloshing as he lays belly-down with elbows propped on the lip of the basin, towel pooled forgotten onto the bathroom floor. "...Wow."

For a moment, you are stunned. Really? Is that really all he has to say about your word-vomit and confessions? It's making you dizzy.

"Wow..." Again, he repeats.

"...Wow?" You question, a little pissed but more ashamed and confused than anything.

"Wow." You don't know what to do with his affirmative.

You are fucking baffled.


	56. Chapter 56

_**A/N**_ _ **:**_ _Early post for you all as I will not be in proximity of my computer tomorrow. I've been doctor appointment surfing for some time now and quite busy but I hope all of you are well. Take care, all!_

"My dearest disciples." Soft, yet pressing, the words pass those downy lips as simply as one would yawn. But it is enough, they are always listening; like the good children they all are.

Her slender fingers comb through the matted locks of the man asleep at her chest and ever-so-gently she lowers him until his temple is cushioned atop her folded thighs. Rika can hear the whisping scuffles of footsteps and cloak before even she sees them.

"Shhh, please do be conscientious of our sleeping guest." Golden locks fall out of her rounded face as she lifts her chin to greet the two with a serene smile as they just barely peek from around the corner. "He is quite fatigued."

"Yes, my Savior." One of the men speaks for both in a breathy whisper. Just as expected, they slow the swing of their legs and lighten the weight of their feet and she grants each with a nod of gratitude. Their dressings stop swaying once they breach the halfway point between Rika and the exit, kneeling on single knees and bowing in both duty and adoration. "How may we be of service to you?" This dear's voice is so hush yet full of excitement and devotion that it swells the petite woman's heart.

It's hard not to smile at the feeling; this love that her family shares. If only V could know, could feel and witness it fully for himself. Her brow wrinkles a bit at the worrisome thought but the rest of her features stay the same.

There is still time for him to learn.

"Would you mind bringing me a fresh set of clothes that will fit our guest, some medical supplies, a sponge and washbasin filled and some toiletries, please?" She ponders her list of necessities, pulling her plump, rosy pink lip through straight teeth. "I may need some assistance when you return. Is that acceptable for the both of you?"

"It's no trouble at all." The other man speaks lowly, barely just above a sigh as his lips curl fondly. "Anything that you may need, all you need is to ask." He straightens back into a stand, ocean blue lights up as they hold with her brilliant emerald gaze, waiting nobly with the other man for her dismissal. Her smile strengthens.

"Thank you, dears. I will await your return." She nods again, hands still busy stroking the tangles out of slick turquoise strands. The blonde woman watches as the disciples retreat, their well-postured forms and fluttering cloaks vanishing behind the wide door's frame before once more she looks into the features of the blind man in her lap.

The muscles in his face so relaxed reminds her of times gone by; of mornings that she would wake from nightmares just before the sun would rise fully into the sky, a peaceful rose-gold that would light upon these same features. Sleeping, without the lines of stress and hardship marring his appearance, he looks so innocent. Like a child struck with awe seeing the marvelous colors of dawn's first light as it paints the sky in impossible purples and blues and pinks and oranges.

It is this slumbering face that would calm the hackling of her nerves, dry the cold sweat gathered at her forehead and chest, filling her with a warmth instead.

"V... This family is ours, don't you understand?" She muses, dragging a small knuckle along the curve of his cheek. "I made this, all of this, for us... You need to realize this...

You can learn, take your time... but soon enough you will be family to me once more.

Or... An example." Rika hums distractedly as the pad of her thumbs trace the fan of V's lashes from beneath raised tinted glasses in a feather-light stroke, her own lids flutter shut, burning at the corners.

"Savior..." She hadn't heard them enter, her eyes reopen as the fallen simper reappears without a moment's hesitation. "We've gathered what you asked for. What else can we do for you?"

Breaking contact with the sleeping man, the blonde woman beckons the two cloak-clad disciples closer, further into her rooms with a few graceful waves of her wrist and a few spread fingers.

"Please, help me to move this man to my bed and undress him. That will be all, I can care for his wash and wounds from there." Setting the armfuls of supplies to the floor below with the smallest of clicks, they wrest V's unconscious form from it's curl around their savior, being careful to keep their hold gentle yet sturdy. "Thank you, so much." She all but breathes.

They make quick work of his shabby clothes and shoes, setting the articles into a small pile out of the way as his sunglasses sit atop the surface of Rika's bedside table and fresh folded dressings join them on the cleared tabletop.

"I appreciate your assistance." She gathers the wash and first-aid materials herself, sparing both men a meaningful nod. "May the remainder of this night be restful for you two."

She knows that it is more morning than night at this moment, but they make no move to correct her; happy enough with her honest praise for them they bow out, mumbling their own words of parting before once again disappearing into the darkened corridor. Rika watches the shadows beyond her door's frame for a tick longer, ear perked and listening as the muffled clicks of their heels can be heard no more before she hooks a toe around the felt-tipped leg of a chair from the corner, bringing it with her in silent little shuffles. When she finally reaches her mattress's side, she sets her bounty onto the flat, wooden surface.

The blonde is confident that the others will not be necessary for this portion and doesn't care to think about their hands on the blind man's body any can handle this much; Rika knows what she is doing, wringing a soapy sponge to an acceptable damp as she lifts V's back with just enough space to poke and drag the soft poof over the smooth skin there. She's done this plenty; her experiences volunteering at nursing homes has granted much humbling knowledge that many could make use of.

Once more, she dunks and wrings the sponge, a slight cloud messing the clarity of the remaining water.

She moves on, working the downy yet porous material down his face in small dabs and pats before scrubbing away the grime behind V's ears left by the arms of those glasses he wears and further, taking time after every section to clear away the filth.

Once, this sleeping man did this very thing for her. It was a pitiful time; one that was spent awake in a spinning world. In that world, colors were muted, blending so thoroughly that discerning shade was impossible and just the mere act of sipping water was nauseating. It was too sweet, too thick for her stomach to make use of thus, it rejected it at every attempt. Yet, even being unable to replenish hydration, still she sweat, profusely.

With his cool hands and tender hold, this now- blind man had swept away that shame; keeping her so close and so grounded even without regards to the soiling of his favorite shirts. She is a woman of honor. She will repay that kindness now, scrubbing clean the pollution of days without wash and bandage the many injuries caused by his apparent wanderings, then she will cover this body as to protect his dignity.

And, when light finally breaks and sleep fades into wakefulness, they will speak. Maybe, just maybe, he will finally understand; take his place by her side that's been empty far too long, abandoned for lack of faith.

Can she have him back into her life, or will he choose to jump just like Sally? Could her heart take it?

If it is for her family...

Undoubtedly, yes. They are her strength. They are her reason. The choice is his: either be a part of her strength and reason or become an example of the heathens that are unable to be helped. Hopeless and waiting for the Heavenly Father to send word to smite.


	57. Chapter 57

"..." You are utterly speechless. How are you supposed to decipher that? Who the hell only answers back with 'Wow.' to begin with? So here you stand, brow twitching and face scrunched up so profoundly it probably looks like you just tasted something downright disgusting. If you weren't sure before, you are positive you look stupid now; mouth flapping an ungraceful open and shut while the rest of your face probably resembles a constipated pug.

Your nose crumples more at the thought.

God, If only it were just that.

No, his blank stare gives you nothing to feed off of. What is he feeling right now? Is he appalled? Mad? Is he offended? Just what the fuck exactly does Saeran think about your little confession session? God, did you get it all out? Does any of it make sense?

You can't tell.

You can't fucking tell and it's... disheartening. Confusing and disheartening.

He's just been soaking in the tub, looking at you with those eyes that aren't giving you anything to work off of. Beating so hard and so heavily, you don't know if your poor heart can take any more of this thick, tense silence. Stomach churning in strange knots, you are about two seconds away from starting from the very top just to make sure you've clarified absolutely everything.

And then, he smirks. You can't read his stare, though.

Your mouth snaps shut once more. That look on his face combined with the anticipation and guilt is slowly eating away at you, but for now, you have no words. It's almost as if time has stopped and your brain right along with it. Thoughts are flying through your mind so fast it's as if they aren't even there. You're stuck fast, frozen in this moment. The disciple can either thaw you or shatter you with whatever comes next. It's both terrifying and exhilarating, and you want to know...

But then again, you don't.

"I was right." The disciple chuckles, low deep rolls that rock the knots in your gut and raise the hair along your nape. "I fucking knew it." Those eyes close, heavy lidded as he blindly reaches for the fallen towel, hooking the thing with the curve of his pinked fingers by pure chance, before pushing himself to a sopping stand. Water sluices from his body in sheets and falls and trickles, of which, you have a keen eye on all. Still dumbfounded. Still no words to put to the situation at hand.

You just... are... at this moment.

"I just hecking knew it was a dumb thing and you were beating yourself up over it." And what a delectable moment it is. Not that you can fully appreciate it, his next muffled words and the towel draping, cutting off your view has your full attention as you perk your ear trying to translate each through the thick cloth while he pats away the remaining moisture from the upper half of his body before moving lower. The hacker pauses a moment to peek up at you through a curtain of wet hair as he flicks down the drain lever and the pool begins to sink, sliding down the silver ring in glubs and hollow squelches. "Seriously, do I look like someone that would take that shit if I was against it? I've had a lifetime of unwanted abuse and I'm not exactly a kid anymore. I'd like to think I'd tell you to stop, at least."

"... Would you, though?" Your voice sounds gross. Thick and gritty, whiny and quiet all at once, you swallow, not necessarily to fix it, just to make it easier to speak. This is something you need to know. Can you trust him to tell you when enough is enough? Would he? Or are you just a pity case that he lets do bad shit without repercussions? "You wouldn't just let me do what I want to just because I want to, right?" Experience; you know that feeling because you've done so plenty. You don't ever want to put him in that position, so he needs to understand your stance. "I don't want...

Saeran, seriously you need to tell me if you don't like something; if whatever I do bothers you.

I don't ever want to hurt you..." The guilt is still there, you feel it swimming circles in your very soul.

The empty tub gurgles down the last few drops and the towel is doing its job at the man's legs as he hums with the stretch leaving you with yet again, another kind of tension. He seems to be milling over what you've said, which is good. You'll give him your silence. You'll let him think. You'll let him come to his own conclusions without interference, and for integrity's sake, you avert your eyes as he straightens out to tenderly dab the last bits of water from his back and onward; finding the mass of comforters and blankets just beyond the door's frame particularly interesting.

He should get some sleep. Saeran's been out for most of the day and night preparing, not to mention the physical strain and injuries... Then he had to come back to your bullshit... It's been a long one. He needs rest. The disciple definitely deserves it.

Maybe you'll surprise him with a sweet brunch or lunch, depending on when he'll finally wake up. Maybe you'll cave and sneak out a whole carton of ice cream, maybe you'll whip up an entire canister of hot chocolate and set up a good, comfy movie day. You know he likes slasher flicks and comedy, hell he's even admitted to watching 'The Notebook' far more times than even you.

Yeah, movies and junk food sound like a plan. Something else to focus on, drama other than your own to pay attention to while filling the void with sweets and salty snacks for balance, all while snug in the soft embrace of those fluffy covers.

Has he seen any Disney movies? His childhood was a deprived and depraved one; should you even ask, or should you just surprise him with a playlist? Hell, you both have all the time in the world, right now. He's done what he needed to, part of his purpose complete and he has a little mini-vacation before he will most likely hop onto some other task, you're sure.

Surprise it shall be; you nod to yourself, a small self-satisfied smile making it's way to your face, sore from your earlier odds.

"Annnnd done~!" You don't even have the time to turn toward him before he's tossed the damp towel onto your head as he passes you with the tiniest slaps of waterlogged feet against tile. "Also, yeah... I'm sure." And just like that, you feel lighter; like you've just shrugged the world from it's perch on your shoulders just as easily as that. His words have a sort of power over you and you are such a willing captive.

Can you really trust him enough to be sure he will, though? You sigh out the worry, limp digits grasping the cold, heavy cloth from your crown. Stop.

Don't ruin this.

Don't ruin this good feeling.

Time will tell. It always does.


	58. Chapter 58

Hours.

It has been hours since the curtains have been drawn and the lights turned out. In this atmosphere of darkness, night-time within a concrete hole of the new day's first light, the sound of soft breath and the fragrance of warm soap from the pillow at her side, Rika can relax. She can bask in the nostalgia the sleeping man so near inspires; she can hope for the future of her family. Neck craning over just enough to make out the teal-haired man's peaceful profile, absently the small Savior places a dainty palm to her chest; the thrumming there more lively in the past few hours than it has been in the past couple of years.

It's the tune of possibility.

It's the resonance of destiny.

It has to be.

He could join her here, forever. V could cast aside all those heathen-idolizing notions and purify himself. Once more, he can continue to be her light; her sun on even the cloudiest of days, there even if he isn't seen. Reliable to a fault, more honest than the rain that falls from bright skies. Her soul is whole again with the other half so near.

V could rip this feeling away with a single word, or he could clear away the overcast to create a miraculous shine. The children of Magenta could be golden and glittering under his care. They could do so much, accomplish the inconceivable...

This kind man and his half-second snores that she could use to write songs; this empath and the pain of others that pumps through his veins just as thick as his own blood.

She will have him.

He is hers. He's said as much.

She needs him.

Rika has always needed him.

The blonde settles onto her side, curling her legs closer to her chest. The knuckles of one petite hand lightly push under and into her cheek as she internalizes a stubborn yawn and fights the weight of her eyelids.

She won't sleep. Not right now. This time is precious as it could either be the very last she gets with him like this or the beginning of a new life for V. A marriage of souls herding the lost into the Lord's fine light.

That bleeding heart, it's too pure to be tainted by communion with heretics. Too great a loss, too valuable an asset, a trophy... A partner.

No. She won't allow them to keep his mind or, in turn, his person away from her. She will cleanse him or she... will cleanse him. Either way, he promised. He vowed his entirety to Rika and the small blonde fully intends to fulfill. He wanted this, wanted to live his life with her. V only needs to take the right steps.

By her hands, he shall live.

By her own touch, he shall cease to be.

Until death do they part.

He's betrayed her once, with his wayward thinking and lack of faith. V has wronged her and yet has not let up in his pursuit of persuasion since. Years have passed, the same game played every single meet. The teal-haired man's persistence never wavered; the tenacity, his softly spoken declarations and apologies...

It is time. This teetering has come to the point of closure. Even still -especially, still- the Savior just wants to lay by his side, soaking in all that is him. She wants to memorize every dip and angle; every scent and the whispering intonation of every breath.

"V..." Ashen lashes flutter and fan at her flush ivory cheeks as her emerald eyes struggle just to stay focused on the shadowed mass that is V. She fends off double-vision with a few sloppy blinks before finally succumbing to the pull of slumber, ex-lover, potential future partner, possible example soundly sleeping at her side. "We could create so... so... much good together..."

His respiration is her lullaby. His warmth her comforting cradle. His 'love' a hope that leads Rika's dreams into all sorts of bitter and sweet directions.

Just which path should she take in this world of vagary. Which will her V trek in the waking realm?

Shall he be saved, or will he choose to be condemned?

Within the vibrancy of neon-tinged phantasmal clouds and the everlasting dawn that peeks through their gaps in rays of brilliance and blasts of rich color, Rika can only observe. She can only be and allow her faith in God, and the words he whispers to her in confidence, guide her.


	59. Chapter 59

Difficult would be one way you could use to describe the night you've had thus far. It really could, but then it also doesn't quite do the experience justice.

Sleep didn't come easily for you, as you already expected. It slapped at you weakly throughout the dark hours, sometimes landing a good hit to knock you out cold for a few minutes until a particularly loud breath or shift in the cloth around you would pull you from slumber's shallow depths while other times you'd only nod off, an unwelcome war between your obsessive psyche and your eyelids battling it out: open versus shut.

Every single time, you'd end up wide awake taking a generous sip of medicine just to start the cycle once more. The drugs keep piling, you feel more sluggish yet even more aware of that voice in your head, speaking to you through the buzzing of the computers' fans; your own voice, admonishing you for thinking it could be that easy, laughing at you in disgust for even humoring the idea that your actions could even be remotely okay.

Shut up.

SHUT UP!

Your eyes hurt, aching with an ever-present sting from hours of being clenched shut now; a vain fight to will your consciousness to ebb away, to finally give you some peace.

He said it was okay.

He told you he would say something if you ever did something he didn't want.

And, you said you believed him.

That voice, it cracks with yet another nasty, sarcastic giggle that almost sounds like choking. You bite your lips to keep back any sounds. You can't let this little struggle of yours wake Saeran up. He needs his sleep and this is just you being stupid. Your breaths are both rapid and nasally and you are almost certain your mouth will bruise, but you don't care. Right now, you just want it all to stop.

You can manage this.

...

You are such a fucking liar. You even lie to yourself. How fucking pathetic is that?!

No...No no... Stop it. Stop... There isn't anything wrong with wishful thinking. There is nothing wrong with trying to change; nothing wrong with a little optimism.

But there is. Nothing good has ever come of you looking on the bright side; listening to words of silver and living carefree. You've only ever caused more trouble like that. You've only been a nuisance when you weren't careful and keeping yourself in strict check.

Though, you did promise to not let it bother you. You told yourself and the disciple this fib. Repeated it, even; as if to drill in that fact.

Your words are worth nothing. You should have known it from the start.

Your breath hitches, lips being freed by the small opening and gasp as his arm tightens around your middle. The hacker at your hind is so warm, so comfortable as his slumber-heavy limb pulls you closer to his chest. That heat spreads through you, the lines of his chest and stomach cradle your back as one of his legs slithers through and hooks onto one of your own almost like a koala claiming his branch. The ruffling of covers and deep exhales puff and rustle at your ears, drowning out that voice to nothing but a garbled murmur.

The smile that stretches your cheeks is tight and a bit wobbly at the same time.

How could you keep doubting him like this?

Your heart flutters even as it sinks.

One more sip.

You just need a little more; to cloud your brain just a bit more, to fog the thoughts, to silence yourself.

You reach for the bottle, now far lighter than it was when you both scooted beneath the sheets and take the last swig of biting honeyed liquid for the night, letting it coat all of the dully aching chew-sores on the inside of your cheeks and swishing it through your teeth before allowing it to glide down your throat which already feels foreign and fat.

Capping up, you let the container drop before pulling your weighty, lazy arm in to rest against Saeran's. The whispering of breath atop fabric, heartbeat at your back and the warmth of his hold finally lulling you away from reality; an invitation to join him in a peaceful, quiet unconsciousness.

And finally, you accept; letting go, if only for just these moments and permitting this welcoming heat to seep into your hollow shell, filling your exhausted being with a borrowed, pacifying serenity.

You won't tell him about this unnecessary struggle. He doesn't need to know and he definitely doesn't need another reason to worry about you. No, right now, just feel. Don't think; just breath and lean into that encircling embrace and body as if you are the missing piece in this puzzle.

Just fit.

Just be.

Just... sleep...


	60. Chapter 60

He can practically feel the cross-hairs upon his head, could swear there was a shadow in a high-rise window across the way, can almost taste the glints of metal against dawning light just as palpable as his frustration makes his nerves quake and heart thrum in a bruising, punishing rhythm.

"Oy! Listen, I had plenty of time! Its just like I explained to the other three guys with clipboards and pens and abundant facial fuzz: I was called by the owner of apartment-" Hands flapping with every exasperated syllable, the red-head blinks slowly at yet another plain-faced mustachioed cop, those thick eyebrows making sneaky appearances like a peep-show from beneath the brim of his hat doing something funky to his equilibrium.

It could happen at any time, any place...

Get out of here. Run, get as far away as possible... Don't drag these guys into a fatal mess.

"-And like all of my fine brothers before me said: that doesn't excuse illegal parking. There are signs for a reason, sir." He puffs out a sigh, a few low-hanging whiskers getting caught in the turbulence flutter about distracting enough to make the exhausted hacker sway on his feet and bite back a violent yawn which only earns Luciel a shifty gaze of bored aggravation. "You still should have paid for parking and utilized the designated garage."

But he can't. He can't just tuck tail and haul ass... They'd give chase, well... He knows that at least one of them would. It would be too suspicious, too sudden.

"But those signs have times clearly marked-It was an emergency with security! God-!" He growls only to stop, taking in a much-needed, calming and deep breath through his nose to let it out of his mouth. He doesn't want to play this card, hating that he has to pull out this role in order to get anything done. Why can't anyone just listen to reason for once? "Hmm... You know what? Alright, I give. Take her. I definitely don't have the time to be arguing the ticket or tow... I need to go. You've all seen my I.D. and taken down my billing address, I'm sure you can take it all from here." Seven pivots on his heel to start his long journey back to his bunker, mind racing through possible hideouts along the way before he stops in front of the damned sign that doomed him. "Lenient of me, don't you think? Seeing as the limitations to parking only began thirty minutes ago, which," making a show of glancing at a watch that isn't even on his wrist while he checks his phone with the other hand, the redhead hums,' by the way, was AFTER I walked out and saw the boots and tow truck and all you lovely, hairy, full-bodied and masculine gentlemen trying to cart off my car. Wouldn't you agree? Though... We HAVE been through all of this, multiple times already, right?

I'll... I'll just go. At least I'll have proper documentation and camera footage from the streets to sue the city for disruption of business, loss of wages for however long my ride is held, mental distress, harassment and costs of the ticket when the totals finalize in the system and are sent to validate the manually written traffic offense voucher, AND last but certainly not least: a full-detail cleaning to buff out those nasty scuffs that the tire-locks've left." He sighs again, looking over his shoulder and rubbing a hand through his messy hair. "Ahh~, it's going to be such a pain, though. I don't want you guys to be penalized for this little mistake too, but... 'If you can't beat them...' Yeah?"

Heavy and awkward and pointy is the bag that hangs from his shoulder, making his arm tingle and go numb and cold as every slow trod he takes beats sore bruises into his hip and thigh. The throbbing ache in his tailbone from sitting on that hard floor all night travels further up, seizing his lower back in sharp cramps the more he moves.

Luckily, he doesn't get more than ten steps away before he hears running and a rumble of testy whispers; fifteen until he hears rapid footfalls closing in behind him. It only takes two more after that until a thick, meaty hand claps him on the shoulder and the very first officer he spoke to that morning clears his throat in such a way that Seven cringes into a pained smile with when he cocks his head in question.

"Hmm?" He knows he's playing a dangerous game, but there is literally no more time for bullshitting around. Either this guy is going to come at him with at least a fist to the face or he's going to drop this bullshit and give the car back. Either way, he's been exposed for too long. There are probably hoards of hired guns and more ammunition than it would take to blow his entire body away without a trace with his name on them.

That is, if they aren't already here.

Either he dons a beaten victim's disguise, gets sent to a hospital and has some sense of vague, general security, gets his car back and drives away to the safety of his underground haven for a single moment's respite, or he gets dead.

Real, real dead.

"Sir, I will have to apologize for my personal lack of judgement in this call. Please do enjoy the rest of your day." Ahh, what an oddly repulsive yet monumentally moving sight this is! To see six men scramble to remove metal boots and tow hook from his baby while their sweat gleams from their foreheads and the traces of grease in their respective mustaches and beards within the golden morning glow.

"Will do, my man. Will do." Seven finally allows a yawn to pass his lips, eyes burning and watering as they shut for a single second. That dread has been growing, larger and larger since he first opened his laptop in that hall. Something is going down, Luciel feels in the twisting of his gut and the buzzing in his brain.

His amber eyes dart around, scanning the skyline for any telltale signs, hackles raised and ready to dodge to nearest cover.

He won't be getting anymore rest anytime soon.

The ex-agent knows this feeling... It's the very same he gets before heading out in the field. It is the hot rush of blood tingling through his veins and the harsh tensing of muscles. His body is putting itself into a hyper-alert state and there's only one reason for that.

Something big is going to happen, or it needs to happen, and it needs to happen soon.

Damn it! He's got other things to take care of... There's no time to play cat and mouse with the fucking agency!

No more sitting and waiting, no laying low like he would have liked to. There are too many questions and too much shit to wade through to get answers. It's time to blow a hole in the sludge and claw his way to the top, or die trying.

As soon as the last officer backs away from his baby, a spurt of energy knocks him forward, keys jingling with the tremors of his hands and the jolts of his steps. Out of sheer luck, Seven manages to get the door unlocked and the metal into the ignition. Without a second spared, the engine roars to life and he is off at a steady pace before anyone can change their mind.

He takes the first turn, the rear-view mirror cleared of any badge-bearing obstacles and the street ahead blessedly shielded by the buildings to his sides and stomps the accelerator to the floor.

Too much time has gone by wasted and stationary. He'll take the cover that these rows of buildings will provide and try to lose the guns, or paranoia phantoms, whatever the heck they may be, along the way.

For fuck's sake, he can't just sit around with his thumb up his ass on stand-by. He needs to call V back, he needs to try and get a hold of him. And hell, if he should fail that task, he just have to investigate on his own.

Lives are precious; it has been too long already. Your phone that's settled in an inner pocket of his jacket and your note now crumpled and laying upon his desk... Both were a call for help, right? A call that he has ignored up until, to an extent.

That guilt, in itself churns at his stomach and squeezes at his lungs, making it that much harder to breathe within the predicament he's in now.

There is only one way to make it right... And in some cases, that way is by doing exactly what you've been ordered not to.

Sorry V... Answer your phone next time.


	61. Chapter 61

Darkness and warmth.

Both flow equally hand in hand as he awakens. He doesn't need his sight to know this heat; V doesn't need anything other than this familiar feeling. It is enough, and, so much more. More than the soft bedding that covers his arms and legs and more than the pillow beneath his head.

Upon his chest is the weight of a head and a palm flat over his heart, downy waves of tousled locks tickle at his neck as the scent of sleep and floral vanilla invade his senses in the most addictive ways.

No. The blind man need not utter a word to confirm. He knows. He feels. It's her, it's Rika... And this, this is real.

It's not a dream. This smell, this sensitivity; the sounds of short little snorts and song-like exhales as if each are simply the whispering of a summer breeze. No, this is better. This is...

More.

So, so much more.

She's so close, sleeping so soundly. In this peaceful moment, he can almost forget about the past two years; the lack of sight being nothing more than the effect of lazy lids, the pain and longing naught more than a nightmare.

V knows better than that, though.

The dry chill that makes his open eyes water, the distinct naked feeling of his face without his sunglasses... These are not their soft, smooth sheets and this bed not the slightly squeaky one they used to share. And yet, he just wants to pretend a bit longer; let his soul sing out next to its missing piece for a few more beats.

Because, right now Rika is safe, so much closer than beyond arms' reach. And because right now, he is happy just to be with her.

Still, fate has other plans for him rather than lackadaisical reminiscing as he catches the faint stutter of breath and the slight hum of a repressed yawn as they pierce through the jet nothingness of his morning. V doesn't release his already-lax hold, still grasping onto what's left of the feeling before it dissipates within the cool air.

And, too soon the warmth fades right along with the pressure upon his chest as the mattress beneath shifts with only the slightest of creaks from its wooden framework.

"You seem to be awake, as well..." Voice thick with the remnants of sleep, small breezes telling of the petite woman's attempt to tame her long, mussed locks; to which V's lips twitch up a bit. "How are you feeling?"

God, he can't get enough of this.

Two years.

Two whole years, filled with speaking like strangers at odds. Two years without this cute, sleepy voice to wake up to; without the little quirks he hadn't realized he would so sorely miss until they were gone.

His throat feels tight. The burning in his lungs and at the edges of his unseeing eyes isn't helping, either. He can't possibly speak with sure timbre in this condition, but for her, he will.

"I'm ... I'm fine." V manages to croak out, raising the tingling tips of his fingers to comb through his disheveled mane as he sits up, which is surprisingly soft to the touch. He isn't able to say much more, tongue tied and at a loss of what to say when feelings don't offer up words.

The bed-frame creaks mournfully as weight leaves the mattress empty save for the blind man and he feels the loss just as greatly, wanting to just reach out, to pull her near once more and not have to hear such a lonely sound again; he ignores the sinking and spiking sensation within his heart, instead perking his ears to the pitters and pats of naked feet against the floor's surface.

"Are you, though?" The Savior muses as she nears his side of the bed and his poor, conflicted chest now flutters with the realization. "You've wandered these halls until your hands bled and your feet blistered. You haven't eaten, haven't slept except for last night, I'm sure... And for what, V? All of this effort just to enter my room and collapse in my arms?" The scolding questions are firing one after another and the guilt of withholding answer, even to rhetoric, leaves his stomach in knots. "Please, just listen to me...

I have now what was rightfully given to me by the thousands of people I have painstakingly contacted time and time again. Information that was entrusted to me and me alone. The data is not meant for anyone else to see, as per the confidentiality contracts all saved on those compacted files.

These people that put their trust in me... Don't you think they should have a choice in this matter, instead of being hidden away like unknowing hermits? Don't you think that maybe they may need the love and direction and purpose of family that Magenta can provide?

V... They should have a choice, just as much as you."

His mouth opens on absent words, shutting and tight almost as if the thought of refuting left a bad taste best forgotten. The teal-haired man licks at and rubs his dry lips together, mulling over her sentiments.

"... The deaths, Rika-"

"-It isn't a requirement and it never has been. But, I don't see a problem with allowing our family's children to pass in comfort and celebration surrounded by love instead of alone and painful, messy and tragic...

You should know as well as any, V. If someone wishes to die, they will find a way to do so. Within Magenta, they at least have purpose. They live for others, they live for themselves, they then enter Heaven purified of negativity and sin, absolved by love and prayer instead of dying just for themselves."

Her words make too much sense, it's frustrating. People are dying. That is WRONG! He knows this... V knows it's wrong but, Rika sounds so right. Her fantasies -that's all that all of this is, right?- are sweet to the ears and welcoming to the soul, spoken of with such heartfelt fervor and sure, melodious reason.

The momentary vision of feet swaying over a toppled chair has him nodding before the thought even processes.

Does he really agree with her?

How much did his own mother suffer in silence? How long had she been dangling in unspeakable pain before she finally passed away? Would she have wanted to die knowing her family loved her, if she had the choice now or would she have chosen the same route?

She shouldn't have died to begin with. Though, that small whisper of consciousness is drowned out by the blind man's own heart... If he could have at least had one more chance to tell her how he felt about the woman who raised him; if she could have gone out as if laying down to sleep... If...

There's no way she wouldn't have wanted that.

As a child and even now, V would give anything to have just been able to say goodbye at the very least; if he wasn't good enough to make her happy enough to want to live...

Yes... His answer... He's found the answer to his own question; Yes, he agrees with the woman that he never stopped loving. V's nod is more fervent, feverish even. He only stops when the cool skin of her palm cups at his cheek and chilled plastic parts slide into place upon his face. Rika gives an airy, soundless chuckle at the sight, unaware of the war from within his mind coming to a surprising end.

"There."

He mutters a quick word of thanks. Too tired is he to find reasons to fight against this, against her; ignoring the desperate call of her soul to his for so long. There is no point any longer. She has won, her prize her own previous possession.

"Rika... You're- You're-" He can't even get the revelation out, the words stick in his straining throat.

"V, will you stay with me? Be my family again, please... I've missed this- missed you..." He doesn't need to speak, her question leaves him feeling better than any dull thing that he could have ever come up with himself.

The raw, stinging digits of his hand trail the soft silk of Rika's fingers to her wrist, up her elbow and past her shoulder as his sightless eyes take in a phantom of the past, a reflection warped by time that guides him by his very instinct to capture those petal-soft lips in an affirmative, sans pesky, unnecessary speech.

'Finally!' his spirit seems to sing; that soundless song resonates, vibrating in his very bones and sending his heart to race.

Finally, he feels like he is right where he belongs.


	62. Chapter 62

The heavy door clanks shut behind the red-head as he pants doubled over, weighed down by the equipment hanging and swaying at his side. He should have taken more jogs, should have trained a bit harder... Luciel dry swallows, trying to calm the painful heaving of his chest.

It's too late to think about this now.

He's already taken the round-about way, driving in circles and spirals where the buildings would allow and parking about three miles away, to be on the safe side; running along walls and ducking under awnings, dipping into narrow alleyways and jumping fences just to get here. Too much went into just being cautious, but he couldn't process beyond instinct, he just moved the way his body made him; never really taking a second to look behind, only forward, only on escape.

Every single nerve is on fire, tingling into numb as his fingers seize in twitches, his body so hot yet freezing and drenched all at once. God, it's too much... Way too much.

Stop feeling.

Luciel needs to stop focusing on the feel and think about where he is, what he needs to do or else he'll just be useless; catatonic in his fear of being hunted down before he's done what is necessary and dying as an unknown man that rigged a bomb in an apartment building... killed and ruined livelihoods as a profession...

He can't.

He WON'T.

...Breathe...

He has to get ready, has to jot down the coordinates and make some calls. He has to search his vehicles and possibly rid them of any tracking devices hiding in sneaky crevices. Seven has to dig out his temp-phone and ditch his main so he won't be followed. It'll be fine here, there's jamming equipment out the yang in every nook and cranny, he made sure of that when he first got the place.

Back then, it was such an easier time; almost a fond memory. But right now, he can't be bothered to dwell.

Breathe.

He's got to get rid of this tail and find out just where the fuck he needs to go.

Breathe.

Stop feeling their eyes upon his back and their aim at his vitals and fucking breathe, Seven! He can do this. He is the great Seven-Zero-Seven...

Breathe.

He isn't that child any more. He is a grown man that can take care of himself, he can survive to do what needs to be done.

Breathe.

"Well, hello to you, too." Brown hair falls around their angled face in whispy tendrils as Vanderwood peeks around the corner, a slow drawl at their lips and ashen brows raised as they continue to watch the small form of their former partner both shivering and sputtering, the back of his pale neck drowning in sweat. "Good news. It seems you're fully intact; no missing body parts, no gunshot wounds or soot in sight...

I'm guessing the downtown area is safe from 'ka-boom' but, uh...

Did THEY find you?

...You're looking pretty rough there, Zero-Seven." Deciding to blatantly ignore the steady drip of perspiration starting to pool on the freshly mopped floor, instead the brunette moves to an empty space on the couch. They're intrigued by the impending break from staring at screens and morbidly thrilled at the idea of details.

No one likes to be blindsided by death, it makes the heart beat faster when you know it's coming.

"Fuck..." The red-head gulps and gasps out, respiration still not completely under control, his fingers reaching beneath the lenses of his frames, lifting them to the top of his dampened head as his palms rub the stinging and strain from his eyes and forehead. "Yes... No,... maybe? I don't know... I don't fucking know..." At this, he laughs, but it's humorless and vacant."It felt like they did." Sniffing, he licks his dry lips. "I could see guns and shadows out of the corner of my eyes." Inhaling deeply, he holds it to try and steady himself, to at least get through his impromptu and unofficial report. "I never saw them directly, but I felt them.

I swear I did.

...I think."

"Yeah..." Ex-agent Vanderwood sighs on a drawl, he knows that feeling. It's one that came with every high-profile field mission, a full body and mind sensation that only dulls minutely with more and more experience and exposure. "I get it."

It's been days since either of them have had ample rest.

Writing code, the adrenaline of causing a secret faction to implode and the danger of bombs and government guns coming after a person can do quite the damn number on a their mental state.

"Zero, you need to rest-" Their brows pinch together as earthen eyes close, bracing for what they know is to come. But, they can't relent. If he ends up dying doing that other thing he's been talking about by doing something stupid like walking off a fucking cliff or swallowing his own tongue, his death will be on their already stained conscience.

"-I fucking can't!" The hacker pulls himself to his full height only to stumble on a step that coated his world in a fizzing black. "I've wasted so much time already! What if they... what if they are suffering? What if they are being tortured for information? What if they are being torn and stitched back together just to have it happen all over again? What if they are broken because I haven't come yet?" It's all a furious string of mumbled slurring and tongue clicks by this point, as Seven manages to stumble over to the back of the couch and hold himself upright by his forearms. "I'm tired of waiting around, Mary..."

"You can't even walk." They scoff, but it isn't harsh. "How do you expect to be of any use if you can't see straight?

I know it's excruciatingly difficult an idea for you, so bear with me as I walk you through it, okay?:

Don't be a fucking idiot."

Luciel barely has time to acknowledge the smooth glide of Vanderwood's gloved hand as it pushes the weight off his shoulder, thudding onto the floor below before they pull him onto the couch, the shadows growing more prominent as his sight spins and wobbles, disorienting him while he falls straight into the slender hold of Vanderwood's arms, locking around his neck.

"Ugh..." They wrinkle their nose at the dampness soaking into their own clothes and sliding slick along their skin, applying a smidge more pressure in order to speed up the process while the hacker gurgles in their hold. "I'm definitely borrowing your shower after this."

He can't... In vain, he tries desperately to tuck his chin, to roll and get out of this...

Stop!

FUCK!

He can't sleep right now, goddamn it!

He struggles as much as he can, weakly pushing and slapping at Vanderwood's steel-like grip before the florescent lights dim to nothing but darkness.


	63. Chapter 63

"No..." That dulcet voice is so drenched in an amused disbelief, it isn't difficult to imagine her sitting there across from him, fingertips at her lips and a twinkle in those wide emerald eyes as her cheeks swell trying to bite back her grin. " He didn't..." 

"Haaahh..." V can't help but sigh, the comfort of this blonde phantom image fades the more the thinks instead of listens. "You see, I'd like to agree with that but..." his scraped digits rap at the table's surface to dispel the irritation of the image leaving him so quickly, "unfortunately it's all true. The little kitten you remember has grown into quite the spoiled cat; home-visit grooming bi-weekly, personal chef, her own room and a television designed to power on and switch channels depending on the mewls she emits... It's a bit much, really... I'm worried about him."

"... That is... completely unreal." Ah, once more the ghost-like vision appears before him, golden hair tumbling down her narrow shoulders while her head dips in a distracted nod, the perfect arches of her brows raised as a small 'o' is formed at the plush pink of her lips.

"Yes..." Already she's fading at the edges, melting back into darkness. It is taking all the blind man has to stay his hands and not reach out for the luminescent shimmer left among the void.

She's right here.

The real Rika...

She's here.

"He didn't want Elizabeth to be lonely while he was at the office on days he couldn't take her with him." The tapping of feet stops just across the room from behind V and he turns his head, ear perked at the sound.

It's a younger man, judging by the smoothness of his medium timbre; bright-faced, he can tell this visitor speaks with a smile as he greets V and Rika with an edge of excited honor and docile volume.

"Good morning, Savior!" Something clinks, dully like ceramic unto itself, nothing as jarring as the pitch of glass just barely before shatter and even less like the calamity of clatter upon the floor's surface; it's a familiar sort, one that vaguely warms the mind and stomach to a restaurant booth and busy wait staff milling about with meals for lovers and families. "I don't mean to intrude, but Mr. Sung asked for me to bring these to you... He made a lot and thought maybe you'd want to snack on them later or something."

"Ah!" That light is back, brightening up this darkness as Rika giggles in a double beat. "Wow, that's perfect! Thank you!" Wood creaks and grinds from beneath the table as she most likely tries to work herself out of her seat to retrieve what the young believer has brought, but by the rapid beats of shoe against floor and his panicked tone trying to dissuade the woman of exactly that, the man stills Rika to a stand at her chair as he brings over the rich, sweet smelling substances. "Thanks, Micah." She says once more as ceramic claps onto wood.

"My regards, also." The teal-haired man throws in his words of appreciation as well, directing them to where he thinks the boy is; speaking to this unshaped change of pressure within the inky black, cheeks to the cool air of abandoned movement, nose toward the warmth tucked within.

"... Uh, yeah. Of course." The young man is still smiling, his voice tells all, even if it is now a little strained. "I-If you need me, I'll be in the green house." A lessened volume is enough for the blind man to note that the other is no longer addressing him. His love hums on a beat as footfalls grow weaker and the silence between them carries until their visitor has left the room.

Cool, slender digits wrap around his own, cradling his hand and turning it enough so that a soft warmth can be slid into his palm. V's thumb grazes crimped parchment as the rest of his tips slink along heated sponge, crumbles sticking to his curious prints with the small swipes; his wrist bumping plate's edge, making it thud against the table's top.

" Breakfast~!" Chirping happily, he hears her own plate slide closer to her as she removes her hold on him. "About Elizabeth, though..." She takes a small bite, exhaling through her nose as she chews, her words a bit thicker as he figures she's tucked what's left in her mouth into her cheek to talk. "It's a very, um... sweet thought." Rika swallows and he can hear her throat work the pastry down before he pinches off a bite for himself, bringing it to his mouth in a careful arc. "Jumin... He certainly doesn't do things half-way, does he?

It's... alarming."

Beyond his own chewing, the blasts of vanilla and bits of apple and cinnamon making his mouth water further; the way her voice drops off, he can tell that smile of hers has faltered.

"I miss him..." Barely above a whisper, the vacant scrape of her nails atop the table's surface competes with her words in a battle for which is to be heard. "I miss all of them..." Her voice is so small, so meek, edging along the verge of an unspoken question that has won out against the grind of keratin and wood but tiptoes gently enough not to take that plunge.

A chilly guilt tugs at his chest.

If things stay as they are, the R.F.A will still believe her to have taken her own life, that vibrant smile and her kind, motivational words lost to the silencing cacophony of the tides and currents, like a heartbroken mermaid becoming one with the sea, as bubbles that dissipate and disappear into the ever-stretch.

It's all a lie.

She hadn't faded within the waters. She's here; has always been here. And yet, he's kept her from them with his fabrications; ...saving them?

Saving himself?

Saving her?

How did any of this save anyone?

It didn't. It accomplished nothing but complication. It did nothing but alienate. These people they've gathered, the causes they've fought for... He threw a wrench into the grand machine, breaking away the connections and as it fought to keep working with the obstacle so carelessly in place, the cogs just continued to pull further apart, cracking direly at the very foundations.

Arrogantly, he believed he could handle it himself. Ignorantly, V fought against things he had no understanding of... Greedily, he kept her livelihood to himself and selfishly he kept their friends far away.

He had no right...

He knew she'd been alone, knew the struggles she'd seen... And yet, this is how he repaid her; taking her from the first family that they had created together, shunning her ideas completely, letting them believe that she was dead; telling her favored cousin all of his monstrous fabrications on the day of his graduation...

A happy, joyous occasion he couldn't help but to sour.

There are some things that just can't be taken back, some wrongs that can never be made right again.

"They've... missed you too, Rika." That tug in his chest is now like a vice, gripping his heart, expelling the air from his lungs in words that his mouth forms without even a second thought like a painful, wheezing cry masked by the hefty lump in his throat. "Not a day goes by that they don't." He swallows, the faint remnants of sweetness sticking to back of his tongue.

"Hmm..." Wet little clicks tell of another bite being slipped past her lips. "...But... They don't know...

They don't...really know...

Do they?" He can feel those emerald eyes upon him, searing in their intensity as barely she speaks around the baked goods tucked in her cheek.

They'd many conversations like this before, none quite as serious yet still, her outline is played like those times before; rich green peeking from beneath half-lidded eyes, lashes sweeping upward as her chin is cocked downward, cheek swollen with food as she chews absently, thinking. He can't hide from her, from that discerning stare.

"It was terrible for them, with what they thought..." V finds himself admitting, a glow of shame painting him a shade paler. "Your death... it was so hard..."

"Why, though?" A faint breeze tells of a few shakes of Rika's head. "I just... I don't understand. Why did I have to 'die.'"

"I thought it would be easier to explain that way... You know, if-" No, that isn't quite right and his body knows it. He can't seem to wrench open his closed throat when his words escape him. "No... Honestly, I don't know anymore." V manages to push out the truth.

It's all a fog.

Everything that had been, the things he's been doing up until now; the dishonesty, the facades... What was it all for?

Convenience? Spite? A misplaced sense of justice?

Justice for WHOM?

It doesn't make sense anymore...

Nothing does.

"Mmhm." The table shakes ever-so-slightly, he takes in a sharp breath when a torn edge of warm muffin presses onto his lower lip. "Okay, enough of that... Eat, dear. You haven't had anything for quite some time and I definitely don't intend to starve you." As he opens his mouth to say something, anything to at least relay in part his apologetic complexities, the sweet sponge is pushed into his mouth further, hanging loosely gripped in the gap of his maw.

V doesn't dare further offend, his own tips flicking the morsel the rest of the way in and swiping away rogue crumbs. He doesn't deserve this, doesn't deserve her care, her concern; these past few years of misdeed obvious proof of that.

And yet, here she sits as radiant and kind as ever; cleansing the filth from his body, tending his wounds, feeding his famished stomach and patiently listening to his every word without any further scorn... His angel, this... Savior...

His Rika.

"Good!" The teal-haired man swallows upon the pleased praise, a crease forming in his brow. Has he done anything to earn such a delighted sound? "Aside from..." A slight flapping sort of breeze fans at his cheek and nose, a vague display to his sightless eyes a phantom hand of the past swatting away at the atmosphere from before. "Eh...How's Yoosung doing with his studies? He's always been such a good student!

He has to at least be in the top percentile of his class! And... Veterinary medicine, right?

Ah! Yoosung is such a lovely boy..." Rika's voice trails off, a smiling voice laced with a longing, a sadness... Something that doesn't quite fit her tone. "Such a bright-eyed young man... Always visiting to ask when he could come along and help me volunteer. The animal shelter was his favorite, though... he did also enjoy reading stories to the elderly when I'd clean them up.

Sometimes we'd even spend hours after time in order to finish up card games. Ah..." She sighs. " Such a good, smart boy... A kindness and talent like his could help to change this rotten world for the better...

He's the only part from the stay with my foster family worth more than a mere passing thought, after all."

The more she speaks, the lower the blind man sinks into himself, his brows becoming heavy, pinched so closely together it's as if he is wincing. And, it wouldn't be wrong to say that he truly is; that shocking, suffocating pang of guilt is slicing into him like a blade, twisting and carving deeper with her every nostalgic reminiscence.

He did... this... to that boy she's praising so highly.

He took a celebratory moment and manipulated it into one of mourning.

V stole away that boy's cousin; his familial companion, his inspiration, his idol... He left her memory to rot with the dead. The teal-haired man needs to at least gather his voice, he should at least air this confession.

"He's..." V's voice cracks, he has to clear his throat before any words can actually form past air and clogged squeak. "He's still devastated over your loss.

"..." Her silence is deafening. Still she's chewing, still she sits at the table across from him, though the sound of wood's creak is enough to show that she's now sat further back, lax and probably sagged gracefully at the hind of her seat.

What expression is she wearing?

Have her eyes lost their light? Is she pouting, the corners of those petal-pink lips curved into the slight of a frown? Has she tears welling like liquid crystal threatening to fall down the length of those rounded cheeks?

He can't tell.

He's helpless to the pitch and void. It's frustrating, but he deserved this as well. With all of the missteps he's taken, even his blindness can't redeem a simple fraction of it all.

"...Has my..." Rika coughs gently, clearly unsettled, "'death' really caused so much tension?" She's so quiet, the teal-haired man isn't sure whether she is addressing him or mumbling to herself. Though, he can pick up a hint of... awe. No... That isn't right.

Shock?

Morbid intrigue?

"I never thought I'd be missed so much..." Her voice grows a little louder, a little bolder, more steady as it loses it's faint echo of being cast to the table's top. "Though...

I also never believed I'd still be alive to hear that I've passed, either." At this, she lets loose a strange chuckle as if she just made a silly joke.

God, it feels so wrong! Everything about all of this is... wrong.

He did this.

"I can fix this..." The words fire from him, trying to cut through that awful sound. "I NEED to fix the mistakes I've made... Make it right. I owe it to you, Rika... I owe it to Yoosung, to all of them... They deserve to know the truth. They deserve to know that you're alive. That I-!"

"-Shh, V..." The tittering of her odd laughter has stopped while she witnesses the teal-haired man's fists clench at the top of the wooden surface, his knuckles white as he gulps and exhales his emotions in fires and pauses.

"-I've lied to them, Rika! So much lying for so long... I can't keep doing this to them. I can't keep doing this to YOU! I've been terrible, careless, selfish... I-"

"-Hey... Hey, hey... Calm down, my love." Her tone is as soft as a gentle caress, as lilting as a lullaby as her cool hands curl over the top of his fists; a simple touch that loosens his grip and halts his tongue. "You'll have plenty of time to do what you feel you must to make amends. What has happened, has happened. There is no point to worrying and rushing. Right now," Her thumbs graze the knuckles of his own in a circular rub, ticklish among the tingles still present from their prior tenseness, "let's focus on our breakfast together... It's been so long, V... I just want to savor this.

You can tell them the truth in time. You can reverse the many mistakes you've made... But, let's just start here.

Right here, just you and me.

This is OUR home now. This is our family.

We'll make them happy... All of them; all of our dear friends... everyone, V. It's our fate, our destiny, love."

He knows they don't have as much time as she thinks. He knows there are people searching for this place, for traces and connections... For her. But, he swallows his fears down, ridding himself of this heavy feeling from the guilt, the sickening twisting of his gut... V's going to let it go for now... For her.

Rika's been right so far, hasn't she? How can he trust in himself when he's nauseated by the mess he's created and already drowning in.

The blind man can't see the smile curving the blonde's lips or the way her eyes narrow, half-lidded and happy with the sight before her.


	64. Chapter 64

You know it's morning; actual sunlight-filled and bird-chirpy morning. That's because you've been staring off at the clock and zoning in and out of awareness since you've awakened; unwilling to move, too lethargic to even think about it. But now, the time has come. It is here and it is real.

Your chest rumbles, emitting a sound not meant for the living. You've got to get up, else you never will.

God, your eyes feel itchy; so irritated and swollen, you are sure you look like a personified nighttime horror; bloodshot and puffy, your irises probably sticking out among lines of angry crimson in an unsettlingly vibrant and wrong sort of way, circled in crust and goo. What little sleep you managed to siphon from the ether is most likely the reason for your current, necessary bodily functions, such as breathing, and you highly doubt you could try to suck in some more. There's no point, anyway.

You have plans, and damn it all if you aren't going to stick to them.

As carefully as you can, you disentangle yourself from the fluffy blankets and clingy limbs caging you into this comfortable prison, desperately in need of eye-drops and some form of strong caffeine if you plan on surviving this day. Not only is your head a figurative storm cloud, but your everything just doesn't want to act in accordance with the simple commands your muddled brain is sending between the rolling thunder drumming within your skull or the lightning bolts of shocking pains that catch you off guard with every step you take and each minuscule tilt of your jaw.

You did it to yourself, there's no use in complaining.

Just move, stand up from the cushy mattress and take a step. Then another, and another.

Unsteady as the strides may be, you stumble your way over to the desk drawers, sliding them open as softly as you can and still things clatter and roll about within them; the sounds clamorous, rattling your nerves in your close proximity and the silence amongst whirring fans that you can't even hear anymore.

"Shit... C'mon..." Third time's the charm, the dropper bottle rolls to greet you as soon as you crack the seal. "Aha."

Wasting no time at all, you wrest the cap off and squeeze some of the refreshing liquid in the general area of your spazzing eyes. They aren't a direct hit, but... Close enough. If you keep blinking, eventually some will travel into its intended destination... Right?

Yeah, yeah... Good.

Tightening the bottle back up, you set it in its spot and palm the drawer to a peaceful shut; using it to support your sluggish, drooping frame in the process.

A sigh escapes you.

Now to get through the halls and to the kitchen... Ugh...

That wouldn't be much of an issue if the door-frame ahead of you wasn't just there, still and waiting for you to pass through it like a good little portal. Its inanimate nature of being an intimidating taunt, passive aggressive in its open and overtly welcoming ways. Your gaze sweeps back to the bed, poofy with pillows and downy sheets and you avert your eyes back to the door ahead, adamant in your decision yet mourning the loss of the mattress' heavenly embrace.

No. You mustn't stray from your path. Like a lone warrior walking into the breaking dawn through a path riddled by fallen comrades, you will face your foe with what is left of your dignity before entertaining the preposterous idea of succumbing to the overwhelming desire to just give up.

Just fucking walk. You don't want to, but you have to.

You push off from the desk's surface, stone-faced and wobbly, but your feet do not falter from their zagging forward trek. The tips of your fingers graze various objects and shelves as you pass them tickling and scratching at their prints, the extra-sensory stimuli making it easier to be sure of each footfall steadying you with the knowledge that, yes, there is a wall close by just in case you trip over your own damn feet, you at least won't fall directly onto your fucking face.

On and on you hobble, past the entryway and into the open air of the hall. The dim light shining down from the ceiling and spaced mounts upon the clean walls is enough to blind your already irritated eyes with a sting at the creases of your lids, and the cheeriness of the daylight atmosphere as diluted rays peek from beneath the cracks of doors fills you with... something; a strange mix of serenity and rage that makes you want to sing to birds and run about like the excited children in the corridor that you just passed but punch a hole through all the walls, all of them, because you just desire darkness and unconsciousness.

Whatever.

The coffee will help even you out, you're pretty sure.

Thwap thwap.

You hope.

Thwap thwap thwap.

Thwap.

The slapping of your warm bare soles against the cold floor causes you to sigh which morphs into a powerful yawn and you have to catch your balance against the wall before colliding into it which only serves to annoy you more.

You hate this.

You hate not being able to control your movement with poise, loathe not being able to just shut out the thoughts that ruin fucking everything.

You hate looking and feeling and BEING this damn pitiful.

Just for now.

Only for this moment will you allow yourself to soak in this feeling. When he wakes up, you can't. You can't wreck the day you have planned, you absolutely can not destroy the good mood that you will create. You can't keep doing... this.

All of it is so tiring.

You sigh once more, willing your legs to straighten out and pull back in even gait while you knuckle the crust away from your lashes. Might as well try to make yourself a little more presentable than the slob that just rolled out of bed with wrinkled clothes and hair that is completely fucked that you really are, right? Absently, you rake out a few tangles and flatten them with your palm.

As you approach those doors, the aroma of sugary carbs and rich spice nearly overwhelms you. It smells so hot, so fresh that your mouth waters on instinct and your stomach screams out in jealousy and yearning.

Not yet, you gluttonous beast-pit.

Life-juice and then cooking. Well... More like 'gathering up stuff on plates' if it's up for the taking, because why waste ingredients if and or when there will be deliciousness ready and waiting to be devoured? God, you hope that's the case. Honestly, cooking seems like it would be so troublesome and disappointing if THAT is what you'll be smelling throughout the process.

You've always been a jealous eater, after all. You've never been much of a cook and baking is just not in the cards for you... Doesn't bode well for being satisfied by your own meals.

You peek your head through the crack you've made between the seams before testing the hinges with the reinvigorated might of your morning needs. Seems the only person in is the same dude you run into every morning in your... various states of being. He doesn't even bat an eye at your outbursts or lack of life any more nor does he question you, which for that you could almost praise the older gent as if he were a living, breathing, golden-plated, ripped man-god. He's one of few you could say you're kind of comfortable with.

Kind of... but you've missed the opportunity to ask his name and it would probably be weird to ask now...

"Nnnhnn" You grunt out a greeting like some uncivilized neanderthal, though not a singular intelligible word flows through the quiet air as you flick open a chrome-handled cabinet and grab some plain mugs while you squint at the reflective metal of the kitchen's counter-tops, scouting for the coffee pot and pouring some of the freshly made scalding black liquid in yours with one hand as your other lifts a couple of packs of cocoa from the little cardboard carton amidst the various assorted teas between machines to your mouth so you can tear into it like an animal. You dump the contents in and slide Saeran's mug into the divet for the electric drip kettle and press a button to unleash a flurry of steam and a thin stream of hot water into the waiting cup. It fills quickly enough, dissolving the powdered milk and chocolate as the level rises and you mix up the rest when it is full enough to be worth the trip to the silverware drawer.

That done, you slurp at your own beverage, taking in much more than your tongue and throat can handle, but keep going anyways only swishing the small drops of coffee around before boiling your poor esophagus. You need this, the wakefulness it brings, the burning pain enough to snap you back to your senses. Get rid of those awful, lingering thoughts, blister away that feeling. Sacrificing a tongue full of taste-buds is of no consequence in comparison.

Growling, your stomach clenches guiding your inquiring nose to that overwhelmingly delightful smell.

"You know if these are for anything special?" God damn this is impressive, it looks like a legitimate bakery in here! You eye the sheets of cooling cookies set in table-top racks and baskets overflowing with a pristine pyramid of hefty muffins in each that are flanking the sides of one of the cook-tops and throw the question over your shoulder to the graying man that's busy flipping through the pages of a thick book. "I wouldn't want someone to come up short for the morning herd."

"No." The gentleman answers you, only briefly glancing at you from over the rim of his rectangular glasses and hardcover. " No, no. They're for anyone who wants them." He sheepishly laughs a bit at that before continuing, a bit more quiet than before. "I was caught up in the first volume and it kept on about pastries. One thing led to another and..." He does an awkward sweep of the bounty before you with a finger still half bracing the back-end of his novel. "...Well, you get it."

Yes, yes you do.

"Heh, yeah." It happens to the best of us, unnamed- cool-guy. That series must be pretty good, you muse to yourself as you grab a big mixing bowl and begin to fill it to the brim. "I'll be kidnapping some of these, thanks."

You can only hope he keeps on reading books that obsess over food, if this is the result. The bowl loaded and smelling positively heavenly before you, you inhale deeply, letting vanilla, cinnamon and waves of rich chocolate scents invade your senses and clear the remaining fog from your mind.

Alright!

It's going to be a good day.

You are going to make it one.

You aren't going to ruin it, not with your intrusive thoughts, not with your moody disposition; not with your tantrums and not with your fucking tear ducts.

The only crying allowed is from those emotional moments in the movies and if the dog dies, that's it.

...They're always such good dogs... Defending their person with their all and giving their lives to protect them...

You sniff and your eyes start to burn but you quickly shake that thought right the hell on out of your head as you situate the big bowl between your forearms as both of your hands clasp around a mug. Feeling a bit proud of yourself for your underappreciated server skills, you hum a little tune of approval before turning carefully and shuffling mechanically like a robot across the kitchen's immaculately polished floor.

"Happy reading, good sir!" You don't know where the hell that little out-of-date accent came from, but the raspy, aged snicker that comes from behind you tells you that he doesn't seem to mind.

"Enjoy, young one." You catch his coffee-holding, one-finger salute over the top of his book from your peripheral and chuckle.

Oh, you will.

You will.

The heavy door stands no chance against the thrust of your hip and when you burst back into the halls that seemed so intolerably bright and cheery just moments ago you are reborn into them with newfound vigor and the aroma of mouthwatering spice steaming up your cheeks in their warm caress. Gone is the need to impale innocent drywall with your knuckles and amplified is your want to giggle about like a kid.

Keep it going.

Just keep it fucking going.

Don't ruin this.

You breathe deeply as your legs push in an even, unjolting stride; careful of your half-cup of cooling caffeine and Saeran's liquid chocolate. Your eyes are still a bit puffy, but the remaining sensitivity only seems to enhance the vibrancy of colors within each piece of artwork hung along the walls as the golden beams of morning's light seeps out from beneath closed doors, softening the cuts of shadow.

You feel so much nicer, taking in all the sights you scuttled away from earlier like a bitter hermit.

Just... keep it up.

For him... For you.

You pause just before you enter the room again. The comforting dim and soft glow of monitors growing just shy of blurry within your gaze. Taking a calming, determined breath, you let the smile grow further upon your lips and step inside your sanctuary.

There is so much to get done, so much to prepare while the disciple is still asleep. You want to give him so much; want to provide him with more than just your emotional-baggage drama. You want this man to be happy.

You want to be, too.

Maybe, if you let go, you finally can?

Before you even realize, you are sat cross-legged in his well-worn seat and fingers moving like the wind through trees along purring keys; the little post-it papers stuck all over the bottom edges of his monitors scrawled with borrowed log-ins help to ease your adventure through the internet and fill the empty spaces on the nifty media player.

A rustling stirs you back into the present. Sparing a moment to regroup your faculties, the chair clicks as your elbows dig into and pivot upon the desk's top giving you enough spin to peek at the bed.

Out of the corner of one eye, the goodies are all set neatly upon the surface of a set of drawers, out of the other, the mound of fabric and fluff begins to fidget.

He's waking up!

Your heart speeds and the lightness of your caffeine high surges through your veins once again, full force.

The playlist is ready, sustenance has been obtained... The time has come!

At the sound of a lazy grunt, you are up and out of the disciple's chair, running as fast as you can to close the grueling distance of less than twenty feet, stumbling a few times over your own awkward limbs before hopping onto the edge of the bed and bouncing on all fours like an over-excited dog at dinner time.

"Get up, GET UP! I know you're awake~!" So much for letting him sleep in, but you let the thought flit about and away as you practically vibrate, scuttling over to the body-shaped lump that has begun to make throaty creaks of weak defiance. "We've got some movies to watch and fresh-baked heaven to enjoy! Get the FUCK up, dear!"

A lone arm snaking out from the pile with a shushing finger is your only response and like hell are you going to stand for it. Before you can even think it through, you've already licked it and blown on the offending appendage, watching it sink fast back into the comforter's abyss as the mass shivers, muffled gagging and from what you can imagine is furious wiping rocking the hills of poof. You can't seem to control the giggles that jerk your hunched body in silent wracks.

"Whaa-...?" The cover-bump groans at you in obscure sleep-grasping despair.

"What was that~?" Trying to unwrap your prize, your fingers pull at the humps of fabric that they can get a hold of, both winning and losing an unofficial match of tug-o-war.

"No."

"I didn't quite catch that, muh-dude." Relentless are your grabby hands and sticky tips as they finally manage to unravel a shock of platinum grey and red, fluffy and tangled, curtaining a single, puffy, hazy sage eye narrowed directly at you. You only quirk a brow in turn.

"Stoooooop~" You would stop if he hadn't let that little nasally chuckle slip. No, instead, you double your efforts, wrestling with both his pulls and the sheer length of the bedding in your clutches.

"Not a damn chance! We're gonna cuddle and watch movies and pig the fuck out and you're gonna like it!" One last yank and there the groggy hacker lays, in all of his tank and boxer-clad glory, shivering from absent heat stolen by none other than yourself.

"God...

Why?

Why's it got to be like this?"

"Endorphins, or some shit..." You shrug, scuttling back away, still holding onto the warm comforter, keeping it hostage. Pumped full of exhausting hype, now's not the time to get technical about your specific brand of mania.

It's time to fucking DO.

"...What?" Saeran rubs at his face, yawning out a sigh. "You know what, never mind... Just bring back the damn blanket, it's cold as balls."

"Nooooope... I've come too far."

"You're literally, like, two feet away."

"Woosh~." You shoot him a blank look as you straighten your posture and roll your knees off the bed, back stepping slowly, intently leading you straight to the mouse and keyboard with a simple stretch. "Ooshooshoosh~"

Juggling the unruly comforter in your arms, you free a hand reaching it out to the tiny device, directing it to the familiar triangular button.

Click, click.

With the delightful sounds of opening instrumentals blaring into the once-serene space, you puff your chest with contentment; taking a deep breath in and letting it out slowly before hobbling awkwardly over to the baked goods and the mug of chocolate, blankets tucked into your elbows that now hinder your legs.

Yes.

A small smile plays at the corners of your mouth.

This is good... This feels right.

Forget the shit from yesterday and wash it all away with today.

"MAAAAAAAA SEEVENYAAAAAAA BABAVEEECHEE WAAAA WAAAA~!" You belt out with the opening scene, making the poor groggy man bolt upright in alarm.

"-Oh good... This is how we're starting the day, huh?...-" Saeran melts into his own little ball of cringe, pulling his legs in and underneath him.

"MAAAAAAAA SEEVENYAAAAAAA BABAVEEECHEE WOH WOH~"

"-You don't even know what the fuck it's saying, do you?-" His question stays unanswered, you're too engrossed in this powerful moment, pouring your soul into the song.

"Hey va va~" You finally hand over the blanket and bowl, before taking your place at his side and hold his cup of hot cocoa in front of his face, still deep in the chanting lyrics and the majesty of the animals of Mufasa's kingdom appearing on the screen.

"Thanks..." The hacker side-eyes the mug from within his exasperated wince, "...I'll definitely need this."


	65. Chapter 65

"Y'er sherushly cwying ofer dahh?" The hacker chuckles at you for the umpteenth time around a cheek full of cookies. He's like a squirrel, you mentally note this while flicking away the moisture welling in your eye as the old lady drives away without the poor, confused fox; the old-timey car sputtering and bouncing along down a mostly untraveled dirt road, abandoning him in the wilderness for his own safety.

'She had a reason.' You always try to tell yourself, 'her neighbor wants nothing more but to hunt him down to kill him.' But it never quells the ripping of your heart when she says goodbye and the little fox just doesn't understand.

"I'm not..." Your side-glare is unconvincing and it withers as you stubbornly partake in yet another heavenly muffin from the slowly dwindling pile. You both have paced yourselves quite admirably, it's surprising. Four or five hours of singing off-key and crying and munching and banter and still the bowl between you two is bountiful. Exactly how, you aren't sure but from the amount of times you and Saeran emptied the bottle of medicine water and had to refill it, you kind of have the idea that maybe volume and absorption-

... Meh, fuck it... That's a boring ass train of thought... Well, at least you aren't blubbering anymore.

That's a plus.

Hah, how about that, Mr. Disciple-Sir-!

You turn to focus back on the disciple proudly displaying your dry eyes only to realize that he's scowling at the screen, looking through it with a dull, far-away look to him. A bit taken back by the sudden change, you cock your head, lips pursed as you let your muffin drop, forgotten, back into the bowl.

"Oy... You alright?" Nudging him with your elbow grants you no response, and that worries you. He always acknowledges you in some way, yet not a grumble, groan or even hitch in his breath is given.

You hate that look, it feels wrong on this face that is generally loose and easy with you, but these moments... these moments are the worst, you're so helpless, so useless in these times that count most; a queasy knot settles in your gut the longer you observe his rigid stillness and shallow breath at an utter loss.

This isn't how things are supposed to be... There wasn't supposed to be lulls, no time to sink into yourselves... You both were supposed to chill out, mindlessly watching kiddie flicks and stuffing your faces.

Make it stop.

You need to take it away; make it go away, whatever it is. Why is that complicated expression plaguing his features? Why now of all times?

Was it something you said off-hand? Something you did?

Did you offend him somehow? Annoy him too much?

No... this look... It's different than that. More complex... Confused, hurt, angry... Wishful, even; longing, a yearning for something that is just beyond reach...

How do you fix this? Your mouth wordlessly flaps open and closed, unable to decide on a decent string dangling about in your cluttered head. How...?

"Hey..." Brushing the remnants of crumbs from your fingers hastily onto the fabric at your thigh you try to get his attention again. When your voice doesn't seem to reach, you forcibly turn his head so that he's facing you, tinges of grease from your digits still lingering at your tips make your grip a little slick but you hold firm all the same; the hacker gives no resistance as those haunted, darkened sage sweep onto you, unseeing.

A newly upbeat song croons into the background completely clashing with the emotions you see passing through those eyes in such an unsettling way, irking your nerves more and more as you try to further read him; each line that forms and fades beneath those faded pools, each crinkle that cuts creases into his brow and then smooths.

Make it stop. Make it go away. Make this better.

You know you were just a crying mess because of the scene before, but that isn't what's affecting him... No, it's something far more. You need to figure this out, to solve this puzzle so that you have the whole picture.

A realization suddenly dawns on you, stealing the air from your lungs.

You are so stupid.

Stupidstupidstupid!

All of this could have been avoided. But you didn't think... you never fucking do...

...Stop... Not right now.

"Shhhit...!" Biting your lip, you speak in a rush as your scramble to get out of the bed, your grip loosening but one palm not leaving his cheek. "Hold on, 'kay?" Only when you slide onto the floor to get to the computer to turn the movie off do you part from him and even then, you run back to the bed once black and silence take over the screens pulling the conflicted, listless man into your arms as he cackles in such an empty way that twists your stomach, him falling limply against you like a rag-doll.

You want him to know that you are here, that you aren't going anywhere... Can he even tell at this point? You don't know. Instead, you pull him even closer to your body from behind, no longer does he sit upright; instead he reclines on your chest like a child exhausted from a life plagued of nightmares. No longer is he a child, but the latter... You know those persist.

You should have thought about the movies before you picked them. You should have been more sensitive; should have-

STOP.

Not now. Not fucking now.

"Do you... think it's the same?" He speaks, breaking through a pause and breath, so quiet, so subdued and vulnerable with that hollow look still emblazoned across his features that it helps to jolt your self-deprecations to stand-still.

You don't have time for your own nonsense, but you also don't have an actual answer for him either. To anyone else, such a change would confound. To anyone that doesn't know, it wouldn't make sense.

But to you, this man has revealed his thoughts; he's confessed his demons, his most obsessive and obtrusive thoughts. You know him and you know exactly what his mind is picturing; tormenting him with possibilities and snatching them away just as quick, over and over. The need to ease him and the need to be honest go to war upon your tongue as it sticks and rolls along the roof of your mouth.

You don't know exactly what he WANTS to hear right now, anyway. He's lived here for so long, wanting and walking his self-set path; it's clear to you now that maybe he hasn't even thought of a differing possibility. Though, his brother ultimately still left him... So... What is it that he needs to hear? What should you say to him? You have no fucking clue what your options are, there's no clear choices; no definite 'right,' no definite 'wrong.'

To hear that he's been living for a meaningless purpose, how would that make him feel? To hear it cemented that his own brother left him without a second glance back... That would still hurt him, too... You don't have answers for him... Nothing good, anyhow.

"I... I don't know." You hug him even tighter still along with your mumbled response, going with the truth; not wanting to feed into a false hope or the hate that has already been growing since his adolescence. "It could be, but... Saeran, I'm not him.

I don't know. I can't answer that."

His chest jerks in your hold. Whether those jolts are from silent sobs or those humorless chuckles again, you embrace him all the same, enough that he has to feel you at the very least. The movements don't matter, you are here for him no matter what.

"...Yeah." You still can't tell, but it wouldn't surprise you if it were a mixture of both. "Yeah... I guess you wouldn't, would you?" His words are correct, but that doesn't mean it makes you feel good hearing them, but right now, it's not you that matters.

Even if you're an outsider.

An intruder.

You've made your choice.

"..." Unsure of how to respond, you do the only thing you can do and bury your face into the dip between his shoulder-blades. The pads of gauze and tape in layers beneath the thin cotton, your hands and cheek and temple a vivid reminder that this man is not a stranger to pain; the huffing of his ribs proof that he lived with hell both upon his body and in his head. Thoughts hurt just as much as a physical weapon; god, do you want nothing more than to be able to stop it all for him. "... I'm so sorry." Even so, you are still partly to blame.

He tenses and the jerking ceases.

The hacker takes a deep breath just to hold it, letting it out a few, long seconds later.

"Haa~...

...Me too." In your confusion at this lifeless mutter, your grip loosens. He lifts from your weakened grasp, his digits linger on the backs of your hands before letting go, balling up as he stretches his back, arms and neck; a few pops sounding, raising goosebumps along your skin at such forced normalcy. The warmth fading from you is too much paired with the aching in your chest.

"Wha-?" It takes a moment, but the hushed, hissing sentiment finally clicks, one way or another. Before you can even question it, Saeran counters with his own, hopping to a stand on the floor in front of you. You stare after him dumbly, lips lax and parted with words left unsaid.

"Do something else? I gotta move, my ass is getting numb." He smirks at you, but he's burning a hole in the floor, the walls and mattress with his stare and everything that comes from his mouth feels so politely... empty. It makes your sugary breakfast roil.

Your heart plummets.

You don't want to be treated like a stranger. Don't do this, Saeran...

"Hahaaa~...Walk time, then?" You smile back trying to remedy the stagnancy between you two, it's tight though, awkward, having to fake one through the tremors upon your own face and the nausea is making the room twirl in the worst of ways. If he doesn't want to dwell, you won't make him.

You don't want to fuck up any more.

"Yeah, sounds good." He hasn't looked you in the eye since he stood and you can't help but feel like he's someplace far, far away right now and running on autopilot. Though, you'll be here when he returns.

He needs at least that much.

He needs you.

Right?

... No. You know it isn't exactly you that he wants. It isn't you that can take this burden away from him. You know that much, but you're okay with allowing yourself such delusions while you're playing this part; acting out as a replacement to what his mind craves most; an actor playing out a role not meant for you, you're just an ignorant understudy.

But, It's okay! ...It is.

It really, really is.

You get it now.

...Don't you?

Sighing internally, you take the lead instead of waiting for him to blindly wander to the gym to take out his frustrations on machines and heavy things. Grabbing his hand you let your fingers lace through his. Even now, his warmth is enough to calm your own jitters, enough for you to think about him and to numb your own seeded doubts.

No, that isn't right... Don't think... Just be. Just do what you can right now. You can think about everything later, much later, when the night comes and he is fast asleep. You don't think you'll be sleeping much, anyway.

This time your smile is wobbly, it aches a little; but it's real. At least, as real as it can be.

Today is a good day. You swore to yourself that you were going to make it one. Don't back down now...

Especially not now.

Don't take everything so personally.

The world does not revolve around you.

Nodding to yourself slightly, your legs work in smooth, wide swings as you perk your ears with purpose listening for that hint of innocent glee and the infectious little trills and giggles you detected earlier.

It was around here... The first few junctions come up and you lean in to hear better, a single head pivot for each hall to your left and right. Thankfully the high ceilings make for great acoustics and grand sight along the way.

You don't exactly know what little games the kids are playing or what they are doing at all, but it is better than him making his way to his preferred destination with all his muscle fatigue and other injuries.

You know he wants to move and when he gets in his head like that, he goes hard; much too hard. The way he's banged up right now... He'd just hurt himself worse. The last thing he needs is to tear something and add on to the long list of 'things that completely suck' he's got happening.

Smiles and happiness, laughter and energy, little craft projects and easy little action games; the children are pretty much down for any and all of it.

They are a blessing.

And as shitty as children being called a type of 'therapy' may be... They are exactly that, in a sense. You feel a little shameful, trying to get a piece of that cheer and steal it for the both of you, but you aren't about to dwell. Right now, it's play-time. He needs this and you want nothing more than to get it all for him. Besides, it's so much easier to pretend around them; so much easier to allow yourselves to get swept up in a moment, leaving the heavier things behind.

Time to forget about all the bad and uncomfortable and embrace the good and purity that is a child's spirit, unburdened with heavy traumas and other adulthood hardships that come along with that hot mess. They seem to have gotten out of their circumstances quickly enough to heal their souls. You take a moment to send out a silent 'thanks' to the powers that be for that... For their sake and for the both of yours.

"Where're we goi-?"

"-Shhhhhhtuhtuhtuh!" Reinvigorated, you interrupt. Still listening for signs of little ones and merrymaking; the shushing finger comes out in a lucky swift flail behind you that barely misses the tip of his nose as you click your tongue and shift your body, following the faintest echoing trail like a blood hound set on a scent.

The louder the laughing swells, the more springy your steps become as you clear corners and corridors, practically dragging the bewildered disciple behind you. Though you are on a self-set mission, you're still careful enough not to push the hacker too hard in fear of inflaming his injuries; he'd roll his eyes at you if he knew this, so you just keep it to yourself. Just as carefully as you listen for those youthful giggles, you're just as alert to any sign of distress from the man behind you.

All it would take to halt your steps is a single gasp.

All you would need is for him to tug back to make you give up this chase in favor of something else.

You're just a replacement.

You are only temporary mass to fill the lonesome, dizzying void.

Well, in that case...

Your face hardens a bit, eyes stern. Do your job and do it well.

The voices are getting more clear, ringing out into the halls as people deep in their own conversations only sparing the briefest of curious glances as you both pass the groups in blurs of dark colors and faces. Little grunts and stomps and the diluted low-volume beats of some familiar tunes fill you with a kind of giddy hope that what is going on is really what you think it is. You move a bit quicker, a knowing giggle starting to bubble in the back of your throat as you try imagine what Saeran would look like-

You made it.

"Holy shit, lamb..." The disciple pants out as your legs slow and the footfalls stop, his lidded gaze still set on your connected hands by the time you look back at him. But he has a curve to the corners of his parted lips. "At least warn me when you decide to sprint. Haaaah~" Inhaling through widened nostrils after completely deflating, he finally peeks up at you through those fire-tinged locks from his hunched stance. "Fuck, color me impressed though... Phooo~ I thought you said you didn't like to run?"

You quirk a brow and tilt your head at this. He's back, at least. The relief is like stepping into a warm room from being outside in in a blizzard. You can't help but chuckle at the feeling of returning normalcy.

Your plan, it's already working.

"First off: language~! There are kids in these here parts." He's probably gathered as much but still lightly, you scold as you stare at him trying to fish for something else to say. Not only are you not out of breath but... did you really go that fast? Didn't feel like it. Then again, it wasn't as if your legs or your lungs were anywhere near being your main focus. "Secondly, you're a noob. I could take on a marathon if I so choose to." You throw the comment over your shoulder as you peek into the room and he mumbles, mimicking you before snorting behind you.

Your smile grows at the sight ahead just as the boy begins to feign sulking.

"I'm not a noob. You're a noob, noob."

You turn that grin around on the almost-pouting disciple and he catches it immediately, eyeing you with a light of curious suspicion.

"Prove it, noob." Your gaze narrows in challenge, a spark of competitive sass lending you an air of confidence you could only ever dream of having. You give his hand the ghost of a squeeze before letting it drop, slinking into the pale yellow room on a backward strut as you spread your arms, inviting the hacker into a mystery duel with a mouthed and lip-popping 'Come at me, bro.'

"The fu- frrreak are you going on about...? You know I'd wipe the floor with yo-" Each step you take back, Saeran moves forward until he's into the spacious accommodation and fully aware of the task that lay ahead. "Shhhiiii-Shoot. Nope." Smoldering slit sage burn into you as you nod only for his gaze to make you to nod more enthusiastically. "No."

"Yes."

"Any game.

Any game at all and I'll beat you at 'em! But I will NOT play that monstrosity.

It's not happening." You bite your lips to keep from laughing at his ridiculous tirade, a little sing-song hum of goading acknowledgement the only sound coming from you as you find a nice place to prop up against the sunny paint and it's complimenting cute, white mid-wall moulding, watching as some older kids and the younger children try to copy the movements of various animated color-blob dancers on the large screen.

"Hmmm~...

Sure, sure~... You just won't play this game with me because you suck and it would totally RUIN that 'gamer's pride' of yours..." You fake a sigh, dramatically slumping for good measure. "No, don't worry. I completely understand."

"Whoa there, buddy-pal-chum. I don't want to play this because it's stupid and there's no point-" You throw up a palm.

"-Because you'll lose and it makes you mad." Sparing a glance at him from the very edge of your sight, you pause, schooling your features back to neutral and you let your hand drop back at your side. "I told you, I understand." You're enjoying this far too much.

"I know what you're trying to do." The disciple sneers, but it's not that crooked and the spite is ...underwhelming. "Fu- Uh, 'F' you."

You blink.

That was ridiculous and adorable and it's taking everything in you to take it head on with a straight, bored face.

"I'm so very offended right now." You respond flatly.

"I bet you are." Saeran scowls, whipping his head away from the upbeat yet tired children dancing the dance of some song by Kerry Paty. He's getting so pissed off and the heat rising at his neck and ears is absolutely delightful when matched so elegantly with those bubbly synthetic beats.

"Sure am~..." Raising your brows, your eyes widen just before you flutter your lashes in feigned innocence. "But, was I wrong?"

"I'm the winner!" The song has ended and one of the younger kids playing has plopped himself on the pebbled carpet floor, heaving and sweating with the biggest smile stretching those chubby cheeks; a couple of older kids, not quite teens but close, file out giving up and grumbling amongst themselves with flicking wrists and waving palms, shock, disbelief and frustration dripping from them like the very sweat from their pores. A couple of younger boys wiping the perspiration from their faces start smacking each other with the moisture amidst some squeals of 'eww's' and "don't do it!''s before their voices are swallowed whole by the hall, jumbling it up in an echoed and distant cacophony growing fainter with each second that passes.

Ah!

Kids.

How lovely and clean they are! You snicker to yourself, it's not like you probably won't do the same.

"Aw, again?" A round, cherubic face peeks out between haphazard brunette bangs and floppy pigtails as she rests her small hands on bent, shaky knees. "You won all of them~" she whines, but giggles breathlessly none-the-less; probably a little proud of her friend's win against the older group.

"He's like a Streetback Boy!" Another kid belts out from his sprawled, upside down lay on the cream and gold embroidered couch lining the back wall; you recognize him as one of the older-looking boys whom apparently had no energy to leave with the rest... or, maybe he simply just didn't want to. "It's no use." He sighs dramatically, exasperated. Your face twitches, the corners of your mouth upturning the more you observe.

"Guys, I just do the moves right. There's nothing hard about following directions." The little blonde boy with sweaty, clumped hair calls bluntly from his rest on the floor. "Try it again. You'll see!"

"I can't..." The twin-tailed brunette pants out, shaking her mussed head. "I need a long break." She coughs pitifully. "Maybe even some juice." Whispering as if were some sort of big secret, she exhales.

"Jun...?" Tilting his chin skyward, his little blue eyes resting on the limp form of his couch-lain friend, the winner questions.

"Nope... I'm gonna nap." Said sandy-blonde friend snorts out a horribly fake snore, his hair lifting in ribbons with breath into the couch cushion. "Just thinking about standing is enough to make me want a coma or two."

"What's that?" The girl tilts her head.

"It's a really long sleep." The younger blonde pipes up, as if it were obvious. Your grin falters at the shift in topic, unnerved that such a thing would even be brought up in such a random fashion.

"Going to bed for the night IS a really long sleep... That's a coma?" Pig-tails uneven and swishing around her face, the little girl tilts her head, curiosity lighting her honest eyes.

"No-" Cushion-prone and lacking any energy it seems, the older boy's voice crackles out at a loss.

"Well, when people die, they go to sleep for a really long time, right? So, is that it?" The eldest doesn't get a chance to gather himself before the younger boy cuts him off with a statement-like question that raises the hairs on the back of your neck.

"You know what?" Voice muffled, the older kid, Jun, sighs into the couch. " You know what? Forget what I said." A note of finality and desperation bleeds from his tone and when you notice the little heads nodding along, you let out a sigh in relief.

That's right, enough of that. Children shouldn't have to think of such solemn things, much less, joke about them.

"He'll play!" You take the opportunity to cut in to the silence of the children's finished conversation, grabbing Saeran's wrist and waving his flaccid hand enthusiastically in the air. You chance a sneaky look back to see a horrified expression marring his handsome features. Scrunched brows, eyes wider than you've ever seen, mouth gaping on a airy squeak... You burst out laughing, unable to hold back.

Priceless... Fucking priceless.

"I'll play, too... If that's alright?" You add on a sigh as you clutch your middle.

"Yeah!" The way the small boy jumps to his feet, clear, crystalline eyes lighting up and sparkling atop such a happy, toothy grin is enough to cause the man at your side to squeak out some more distressed, throaty sound in defeat. He can't say no, and you take advantage of this full-fucking-throttle.

Tiredly, the little girl hobbles out of the way towards an empty space on the sofa as the disciple scowls, begrudgingly walking to take a space with you still latched onto his limb. You just soak up the feel of this victory before unhanding the poor, sulky dude.

"What song do you want?" The kid has gone back to facing the television and sensor, making some futuristic looking hand gestures and adding his own verbal 'whoosh'es into the mix. Ah, this kid is a kindred soul.

Shoosh!

Woosh!

Shwip!

"Whatever." What a buzzkill. You jab him in the side with your elbow, gently enough but he tenses at it and he seems to rant at you beneath his breath. You swear you hear at least one 'alright' among the clicking though and that is satisfactory enough for you.

"I'm good with anything." You chirp among your comrade's grumpy grunts, still smirking like a jackass.

"Oohhhh! Ooh, ooh!" A devious shade takes over the child as he lands on a song and tilts his head to speak to the both of you in a serious, dark tone not meant for this little eight or nine year-old body. "I'm sorry,

... this win is mine."

"Sure kid..." Widening your stance for battle, your eyes narrow in on the young sap. "Bring it on."

"Wow..." The hacker only raises a brow at the exchange, standing awkwardly still, waiting for the music to start, just to get this over with.

Jumping and shaking out his arms, the boy blows out pumping himself up, a fierce glint gleaming in his eyes when he finally stops and swipes left with his hand outstretched, starting the song. Some recorded whoops and applause crackle from the speakers before the synthetic beats and iconic quad slides assault your ears.

"Aw, what the heck is this crap?!" You snicker to yourself at the tone of a very disgruntled, censored Saeran beside you.

"This is the sound of genius in the making.~" You add on a laugh, popping your hips and snapping your fingers along with the person on-screen. Honestly, you couldn't have picked a better, more hilarious song for the disciple to dance to yourself.

Pure genius, this kid.

"It's 'Toxic,' duh!" Eyes never for a moment leaving the television, the blonde kid huffs out, winded but achieving all 'flawless' move points. "You're older than me, you should know this song.

It's ancient!"

Wow, ouch... That hurt your soul... But...

Damn, this kid is gettin' it.

And his patronizing tone only causes you to chuckle some more when the hacker only grumbles more fervently in response, stiffly swaying side to side, snapping a half-second too late for the rhythm only for the game to change up the motion on him.

"Damn it... " But, both the child and yourself were ready for that spread step and crossed sweeping arms and you watch out of your peripherals as Saeran curses under his breath glaring at the screen when he receives nothing except 'Miss' and 'Almost' at best for his attempts.

"Unh-uh!~ Language." You aren't doing as well as the little boy, but you aren't faring too badly either. Already you're out of breath and poking whatever fun you can at Saeran is taking it out of you. Still though, you keep your hips popping and hands sliding and punching as the little 'upcoming-move' box dictates, enjoying the show you get at every little side-glance.

He's trying.

He's in it too deep, now.

Oh, god. The hacker is trying so hard to keep up that he's got his tongue sticking out of the corner of his mouth, pressed between his molars and canines while those sage eyes are glued on the digital instructor from beneath a creased, heavy, sweating brow.

You aren't gonna lie. Heck, he's catching on quick for being a beginner thrown into a dance-off on hard mode. He's still a little stiff and creaky looking, but that face. God, that face is, weirdly enough, both highly attractive and utterly ridiculous.

You keep on, vaguely familiar with the moves and this song in general but make sure to pay attention to the sexy-body-rub and booty-stuck-out parts Saeran is attempting and damn if it isn't worth it. Never did you ever think you'd get to see such a glorious sight!

As twisted and stiff and overall awkward the disciple looks, breathing rapidly through flared nostrils like a raging bull and tongue out... You're honestly impressed.

Yeah, it's funny... But with how hard he's working on something he clearly didn't want to do, it makes you wonder a little about how focused and dedicated he was to learning and doing all that he does now when he was freed from his mother and the prison she made his home.

You get so lost in thought, that eventually you just stop moving, stop looking at the screen ahead and instead you keep your gaze on the man at your side, watching as he gives this dancing thing all of his attention to the best of his abilities. So out of it are you, you don't realize what's coming before it's too late.

He jumps on an unstable single leg towards you, his other crooked upward as his hands curls up in front of his chest like a bunny.

"Ouuhhpps... " You don't move out of the way in time and in a flash, you are on your ass, the little girl and other boy in the background giggling in shrieking trills at your harmless misfortune.

Yeah, thanks kids!

"Dance is serious business." The blonde boy grunts solemnly at your mishap.

"Shi-Shoot, you okay?" You've broken his focus and now Saeran keeps whipping his head over at you to make sure you're alright. A tiny twinge of sadness pokes at you with his loss of focus, but it only fuels you on to get it back.

"Yuppp~" Standing back up and taking a moment to dust off, you stumble your way back into the groove trying to get the hacker back into the zone. "Just got lost in the music is all.

I'm addicted to you, don't you know that you're toxic?~ And I love what you do, don't you know that you're toxic?~" You belt out along with the chorus.

"Ugh, 'kay... Just don't." You snort at the sound of his forced distress, maybe you might have over-done it with the sing-a-longs earlier.

"All this talking is probably why neither of you have a good score~." The blue-eyed boy exhales as his little hips and fists rock and pop.

Well, he's not wrong.

"Ouch..." Grunting out, you and the man beside you redouble your efforts, a common impossible goal now sprouting between you two: get as many points in this last minute as you both can. "Point taken, kid."

"Keep it up!" The little messy-haired girl cheers from the couch.

"Wooooooooo." Jun joins in, with very little enthusiasm seemingly left in his body, a weak fist jutting as far upward as he can manage; a whole three inches of too much work causing him to drop it to a limp drape over the edge of his cushion.

You can understand, if this is the type of monster they've been playing this game against.

It's apparent that he is in his element. This kid is to dancing like a mystical, mythical fucking dragon with it's blazing fiery breath. Natural. Fearsome. Something to fucking conquer!

You try to roar out in some sort of battle cry, but end up choking on your own dry spit, coughing and hacking instead.

Jesus, you are sweating in sheets and it hasn't even been a full song yet! But, you've got to admit... This feels great. Putting aside the fact that you are gasping for breath like fish suffocated and separated from its precious water and your muscles ache like mad in ways long forgotten, you feel fucking amazing. Making it even better is the disciple beside you, working his stiff, beaten body beside you like a poorly-trained stripper intensely determined to make a decent tip.

In these moments, he's managed to leave his troubles behind; dancing to a song he'd never listen to on his own with kids cheering him on and having fun with the competition.

You're so glad.

"Oh...

I win again, look at that." That flat tone is betrayed by a tight, yet twitching grin that you hadn't noticed in the little blonde boy's conversation with the twin-tailed girl earlier. That cheeky little brat! You grin at that confidence though, he knows he's got a skill and he enjoys using it. You can't blame him for that. Not in the least. "Want to pick the next song? Maybe you'll get an extra point or two..."

Oh...

Oh, it's on!

You glance at Saeran and he returns it, that same burning glint in his eye as you have in your own.

"Alright, short-stuff... Don't start crying if we take the crown from you."

"It probably won't happen, so..."

Once again, your break out the hushing finger, flinging it across to the miniature inhuman Streetback Boy and to the hacker before swiping at a random selection.

"Lamb... Whoa..

Whoawhoawhoa!

Are you trying to kill us?!"

It was a playlist. You selected the entire damn playlist. Your limbs will regret it later, you are very sure of this but... You aren't thinking of then, only now. Right now.

"It's only a real competition if we do them all~... That first one was just a warm-up." And... It's not like Saeran would have left the weights behind in the amount of time this list will take to finish. This will keep him more focused on what's on the screen and keep him out of his own head. Hopefully he'll be satisfied with the cardio this'll provide.

Hopefully it will be enough.

Hopefully you can help make him happy, if only for this one day.

Well... as long as you both don't die in the process.


	66. Chapter 66

Bad idea.

That was one of the most terrible fucking ideas you've probably ever had and now you're here laying on the pebbled carpet floor, your entire body numb, tingling, tired, and drenched; respiring so hard, so shallow and so fast that if it weren't for the pitiful wheezes, you wouldn't be able to tell if you're breathing at all. Another body lies fallen mere feet away, but he might as well be in another country at this point; you can't get to him, you can't even move.

The light is fading in and out, floaters of sparkling black drift to and fro within your failing sight as your eyes sting from strain and water from your lack of will to blink. You don't wipe them, no. It's too much effort to even twitch a single finger, much less to expend your non-existent energy on such a menial task.

Had you that kind of might, you would have inched ever closer to the disciple, which you can only barely get a glimpse of in the very edge of your view; the top of a glistening, red-flushed forehead and hair dampened, darkened and stuck together with sweat does nothing to gauge wellness of being, unfortunately.

Towering between you two, bodies lain prone against your deathbed of hard fibrous flooring, a small boy stands. His crystal blue eyes slit in over-imposing superiority and triumph, haughty in his victory and proof of conviction as he leans over the both of you. His breath may be a bit labored, but his form has not broken like yours or your companion's. His will is strong. Finally, upon one last hollow glance at that round-cheeked smirk among the shadows closing in, you close your eyes, a tight smile slightly stretching across your face.

Respect.

Much respect to this little human.

If this is to be your end, you are glad to have had such a worthy opponent.

"You killed them." A familiar voice cuts across the room, the knowing, calm nonchalance a stark difference to the phantom sound of your own heart's beat thrumming mockingly in your ears. "They're dead."

"Jun!" A scolding bark much like the squeak of a terrified mouse makes its way into your fading hearing as your body melds with and becomes one with the tensely coarse fibers below. No longer are your appendages your own, as they melt, resounding with a welling of grim, finite acceptance. "They're fine~! No one has lasted as long as they did.

Give them time to rest and maybe they'll play ag-"

"-No, Dahlia. Nnnh-Mnhh~" This voice seems to boom above your sunken form, thankfully cutting that thought short before it gained any more weight. "I've destroyed the both of them!

They're done...

Just look at them!"

Your eyes are still shut, but you can feel a small chill from a breeze possibly created by the boy's hand sweeping over you both like a sovereign addressing his people.

"Yeah..." Croaking, coming from the floor at your side you hear the familiar voice of Saeran, still grasping on to life, it seems. "... No." He huffs a few times, panting and gulping to ease the stickiness of his throat. "No, I'm not doing... THAT... again."

"You shouldn't take on challenges greater than your skill set." The steady tone of the older boy responds, a small laugh behinds his words.

"Any video game could tell you that much." You crack your lids at the little brunette mother hen, almost disappointed not to see her blurred visage with a hand on her hip and a finger wagging at you both.

Oh, Dahlia. Sweet Dahlia...

How right you are.

Level one naked warriors wandering into the cavern of the big boss... THAT is the kind of demolition that happened to your novice team. How foolish, how ill prepared... how reckless you were.

But, at least it was fun.

"Hey... nerd...?" Your foot flops over as something swats at it. "You gonna get up now or are you soaking in the defeat a little longer." Saeran, it seems that is him, the blurs aren't very telling anymore; white and pale yellow and smudged shapes are all blended together in a weird coalescence of shadows and stars and blobs that sway, he is not but a single one of these blobs that swats at your foot again. "Hey."

"I..." You find your voice, lost amongst the cracking and dryness on your tongue. "Would bow to your victory-"

"Stop making it weird." The other puddle-blob from the floor rises into what you could only imagine is a sit.

Ah. Right, right.

"Good game." Clearing your throat as best you can, you try again. "That was... so much fun." You sigh out.

"Only... slightly less weird." Saeran's gruff mumble reaches you. You smile on a chuckle.

"C'mon, show some respect to the king of dance, here." Your muscles scream at you silently in their stiffness and aches as you lift yourself into a sloppy half-lay, elbows itching from the harsh carpet as they dig into it at your sides. "He wrecked us both and you know it."

"I KNOW IT!" Pig-tails now righted and swinging about, the little brunette exclaims with certainty and an odd amount of excitement that sets a bit of unease into you. "But, you just need to try ag-!"

"-I saw the whole thing. I am a witness to your humongous loss. " Thank you, Jun. Thank you for stopping another dance off before it even began. You know with all of your being that if that little girl were to ask you to do it again, you'd probably cave and it would be a rather messy disaster. "It was... devastating how bad you both are compared to Ari."

Okay, ouch... though, he's not wrong...

The little blonde-haired, blue-eyed boy only hums. Your vision clears a little more, people and structures becoming more vivid as your focus slowly returns from the void of almost-'death.' Ari is smirking smugly, but you aren't mad about it. In fact, you think he's earned his level of smug.

Smug on, kid. Smug on.

All of a sudden, that little prideful smile falls, a flash of worry sinking the corners of those big blue eyes.

"You'll..." He bites his lip. "You'll still play with me though, right?

Are you mad at me for winning? I could try harder not to do as good if you'll come back-" his shoulders slump making his little frame even smaller as he seems to shrink into himself. Your heart breaks at the sight, this deflation of such a huge personality in such a young child becoming nothing but a hallucination in an instant. Those crystal eyes swim, his lips swell and turn down as he talks on.

He was enjoying himself just minutes ago. Ari was dancing his hardest, rounded cheeks split with the biggest of tired, but amused grins.

He didn't act like this when the other, older kids left. He was still smiling, like a child should. He was still content with his victory, still looking for more challengers... Your chest tightens.

You and Saeran are both adults, a fact that is as clear as day. What kind of parents... What kind of adults have these poor children lived with? What kind of horrid things did they say? What did they do?

Anger at your own questions leads your blood to boil and your sticky throat to clump and burn.

He was so confident... And then it was all taken away.

He was so happy... And then Ari became fearful and unknowing.

This little boy, as bright as the sun became a mere shadow of himself in an instant.

You open your mouth to speak, but it seems everyone had the same idea and the little boy is taken aback by the cacophonous roar of everyone in the room. He jumps at the sound, short, spread tips trembling at the surprise, mouth parted and face pale as he lets out a startled cry.

"-Kid, you don't need to do that, I'll play again-!"

"-Don't be a turd, we'll wreck you at your best-!"

Ari's small chest pumps rapidly, trying to make out all the words that basically surround him.

"-I'll always play with you, Ari-!"

"-Dumb butt, you've always got me and sis if they're too scared to play you-"

The light that sparkles, once the words become more than just a force, welling in those pools of blue really do make them look like precious crystals and you have to take a moment just to appreciate the happiness that now seems to be coursing through his small frame. His fingers are fidgeting more, his shoulders shaking, it looks like he can't seem to contain it all. The pallidness of his rounded cheeks is now replaces by a rosy glow as that gaping mouth closes and turns into the brightest smile you've seen from him today. You have to clear your throat to coax down the tears that want to break free.

Is this poor boy happy here, too? Is this reaction just a habit from his old life prior to Magenta? You don't know, but damn it if you're going to leave it alone... A little watching when you can, dancing more than you thought you ever would; it couldn't hurt... You just want to make sure.

You can't let THAT keep happening.

You look over at Saeran and he's wearing the same soft, determined face as you when he meets your gaze.

You don't even need to ask. You don't need to tell.

You both give a little twitch of a nod, a silent agreement.

At that, you sit up as best you can, core muscles tense and painful, your joints popping and creaking when you try to get up further. Finally, you manage to stand on legs like jelly as your ass cramps and knees resound with the vibrating feeling of being smashed in with a bat.

The nimble asshole at your side is already up, seemingly creak-less and only a fair bit sore.

Good for him.

Wooooooooooo...

As petty as you may be, you still smile, glad to have him. You're glad to know that he helped in making this kid happy and that he enjoyed himself fiercely, despite himself.

You're glad he's on the same wavelength as you... So glad to know that deep down, you both want these kids to have their childhood... It's sad that you each had to endure what you did, but in times like this, when kids need it you can be there. As an adult, you have that power.

And you can empathize.

You can try to make it better, so that another child doesn't need to feel the ways you both felt.

Alone.

Unloved.

Unhappy.

Worthless.

Bothersome.

Empty.

You walk over to the little blonde boy, ruffling up his damp hair.

"Just let us know when and where, Ari. " He whines out, giggles and grumbles of 'stooooppp~' making him snort as you mess his already mussed head further. "We'll play again."

"Ugh! I don't wanna, now!" His little snickers beneath his breath betray his intents. "I void it! I void the invitation!"

"Do you even know what void means?" Saeran quirks a brow, the sight a funny one to behold through his middle-parted wet hair that sticks to his head like he gelled it there. You laugh, but stifle it with a hand when he shoots you a dirty look.

"I read..." Ari rolls his eye like his answer is the most obvious thing. "So of course I know a little word like 'void.' Pffff~"

Your chest puffs up with a bit of pride as this kid gets his spark back and you clutch at a handful of tee-shirt that's over your heart for no reason aside from the sake of dramatics.

Good boy.

You tell him, Ari!

Reading is power! As much as you want to throw a dumb ass fist into the air, the context would be lost on everyone except for yourself, so this time, you restrain yourself. Your comrade is wearing the look of someone genuinely impressed.

That's good enough for you.

You look away and notice the older boy, Jun and the little brunette Dahlia are now standing, side-by-side. The little girl's eyes are threatening a heavy half-lid as she sways on her feet a little, being propped up by the sandy-blonde as he absently rubs his stomach, looking between his little sister and younger brother with a small, sad smile.

"I wish big bro..." He doesn't notice you. He also doesn't notice that you can hear his small whisper. As unfinished as it was, you can only guess that it... It probably wasn't a good reason that the oldest brother is missing.

"It's about time for some food and a nap, don't you think, Mr. Disciple-sir?" There's a question in his stare, but he doesn't argue as he turns to leave.

"Later, midgets..." Throwing up a single hand, the hacker disappears into the hall.

"We'll grow..." Ari scoffs.

"Jun?" You wave him over as the little blonde glares at the door.

It's awkward and slow the way he's being forced to walk, Dahlia is practically clinging onto his short leg half-asleep so you lessen the distance with a few steps yourself.

"... Are you all, um,... Are you kids happy here?"

"..." There's a small pause as this young boy inhales deeply, like a wizened old soul about to impart knowledge. "... Yeah. Yeah... I think we finally are."

"...The pretty blonde princess..." Dahlia yawns from her perch at Jun's knee. "She saved us from the mean yelling and broken things."

"She's right." Jun's free hand pats the top of her head and she closes her eyes, enjoying the warmth enough to have to jerk her drooping head up from falling asleep. "It's better now. All the bad stuff is pretty much gone." In this moment, this sandy blonde preteen, or early teen, boy looks like a loving father, his tender gaze flicking between each of his siblings before regarding you with a kind of relief that speaks volumes in its compassionate silence.

"Alright..." You shift awkwardly, scratching your cheek. "Well, if you ever need to talk, we're in the middle hall from the front, dark room, a crap-ton of computers that are always on. You can't really miss it." This kid is so mature... It hurts, the ache is like ice scraping along and clogging your arteries... because you know that he knows. You know the he is like you, like Saeran.

Maybe you both can help.

Maybe you can't.

But, this is your hand and you are extending it as far as it will take for him to accept it.

"Alright...!" You clap, it startles the little twin-tailed girl and you wince. "Come visit if you want to hang out! See you guys later! Go get some food and sleep, looks like you need it." You laugh a little as you back out a few steps before pivoting and righting yourself in the doorway, a smile painted on your face for so long that your cheeks ache.

A familiar hand grabs your shoulder, setting your nerves on edge for the briefest second before you melt into the touch.

"You talked to them?" The soreness of your body makes itself known again, that strong front collapsing, breaking down brick by brick as you and Saeran make your way down the hall, voices as hush as you can make them.

"Yeah..."

"Good." His hand finds your own as it swings limply at your side, the grooves of his tips tickle your own before your fingers lace in a tight fold. "...Good."

You give him a squeeze.

"Yeah..." He squeezes back, your wobbling steps aside his even stride takes you past the curves and familiar photographs framed at the walls; the lights cast small, faint shadows in quad upon the floor, growing and shrinking as you travel beneath and away from each sconce and glass-covered hung-bulb.

"..."

"..."

"So... Why didn't you ever tell me that you are second only to the king of dance, himself, Saeran?" Your voice is thick, trying not to crack your inquisitive illusion. "I thought we were friends. Friends tell each other things like this! Your talent is one for the fucking books, my liege!"

"Stop that..." He groans and rubs at his temple, a twitch at his pale brow telling of his growing irritation at your shit today.

You chuckle.

"Nope, not until you admit you were born to dance~!" You scrunch your nose and stick out your tongue. "You might not be the king of dance, but you can flaunt your princey-ness with some fucking flare!"

"Wow." He snorts at you. "...What... the fuck?"

"You heard me." You challenge the disciple with a straight stare before you roar as quietly as your can, thrusting your waiting fist into the air. "Loud and proud, baby! Louuuuud annnnnd prouuuuud~!"

He flicks you in the forehead, you blink, flinching back from the mini-attack on your person.

"Ow." Lips pouted and whining, your fist drops in favor of rubbing the afflicted area. "That wasn't necessary."

"Fuck you, I didn't even do it hard."

"Yes, you did."

"No, I didn't."

"Yes, you did."

"THAT'S not fucking annoying..." He sighs, eye twitching as he stomps onward, glaring forward. "... NoIDidn't..." You bite your lip. You knew he couldn't resist.

"You know..." You lean into him, hissing a little as your poor over-worked muscles are compressed in ways that are just 'suck' at its firmest definition. "All you have to do is admit it.

Admit that you are the prince of DANCE! ...-ance -ance -ance -ance..." You mimic an echo, for the hell of it, hoping it will catch and echo back just as annoying as you.

"You god-damn right," His mouth twitches, the corners working so hard to frown as his laughing voice betrays a smile at your weird-ass self. "I'm fucking royalty."

"See, was that so hard~?" You coo, letting the false echo drop, and he grunts in return; a grimace twisting his features into his best stink-face.

"Yes."

"Anyway~!" Popping your neck with a tilt of your head and shaking out your free arm, you sigh. "On another, more pressing note:

I think It may be time to eat and definitely not move for a while.

Like a year. A year seems like plenty of non-movement."

"Hell. Fucking. Yes." An airy few chuckles warp his words, but doesn't detract from the hacker's agreement. "I feel like I've been trampled by a horse.-"

"-A very tiny horse that could move like a graceful god." Interjecting with a finger, you try to wink but fail, as per usual.

"... Don't- ugh... Don't do that." The center of Saeran's brows pinch in pain as he closes his eyes to banish the sight and pushes out a long, exasperated sigh, shaking his head. "...A horse, nonetheless."

You snort at his feigned distress. He deserved the power of the wink for not fully respecting the ilk of what you both were up against.

The sight of the familiar door frame surrounding darkness and a glow of deep blue light quickens your steps, giving you both just that extra little boost to make it in and face-plant simultaneously upon the tousled comforters and pillows atop that heavenly soft mattress. Well... maybe not simultaneously... Maybe you pulled him down with you, but he's not complaining and you aren't looking to fill in the blanks with semantics.

Your legs hang off the bed at the knee, straight, rigid, a wee bit uncomfortable, but you make no move to affix yourselves any further onto the waiting bed. The will sapped, your energy roughly at a negative by now. The rectangular mattress looking like an aberration that just sprouted its appendages and has no want to use them.

That's okay.

All of this: completely okay.

"Mrrrmph rrmphh phhhtt thhh hrrrffff yrrrrrhhhh." You can't even understand yourself, and honestly you don't care whether or not he can make out your words.

You are glad to have him. Whether you are just a replacement or place-holder... This is special to you, no matter what.

Sinking deeper into the hold of the covers and sheets and pillows, you let yourself go; muscles relaxing from their tense knots into pools of lead against such a downy surface.

Fuck eating.

It feels like Saeran is having the same thought.

Nap. A very long nap is in order and then, the good day can continue into the night... Maybe... You'll see.

God. Shut up, quit thinking; Quit emoting, quit monologuing in your damn head. Just... fucking sleep... al..read..y.


	67. Chapter 67

Small rhythmic clicks and pecks harmonize well with the tune she hums so happily into the atmosphere, and like thanking her for the wondrous gift of her voice, a gentle breeze streams through one of the cracked windows, not nearly as cold as the wind of the morning earlier. V leans back, further into the cushions of the upholstered chair, his fingers tracing the curves and swirls of the carvings at the bend of its otherwise smooth arm and thickly polished frame. It creaks faintly with the shift of his weight, inspiring a curious 'Hmm?' to interrupt her joyful tune and stall the keys at her tips. He only smiles in return to the direction of that beautiful tone, that angelic woman, now so ever attentive and attuned to him.

"I'm almost done with the first few messages, dear..." Rika speaks, but it's not as prominent as if it would have been if she were directing her words directly to him, so the teal-haired man just nods, contentedly acknowledging to himself that she's gone back to her task, possibly trying to expedite the process in order to return to him.

"Alright." This. This domestic silence is far from awkward or unwanted. It is comfortable and something he so dearly missed. It is an absence of speech where speech is no longer needed, one in which comes like calm waves lapping at a twilight shoreline... Like the tender twinkle of the stars that hang in the expansive ink of the night sky. The silence is there, but there is nothing missing.

It is warmth, it is familiar.

Still, V's mind cannot wrap itself fully around all of this. Years of conversations dripping with hurt, the burning and closing of his throat whenever her name was ever mentioned, the aching breathlessness that came with thinking that all of it would last like that forever... Just for it all to disappear within an instant.

Is this a dream? Were the years before a nightmare? It is hard to distinguish as he is, trapped sitting in stretched void, sounds and feels and smells and tastes his only guides in this realm of the near-mad.

'This is real.' He has to tell himself now and again, once more again as the dissociation makes him grip at the carved armrest, grooves of shapes unseen by his wandering, sightless eyes, digging into the newly-scabbed, still-raw flesh of his palms and digits. V mouths the words without sound, aside from the slight pop of his lips and the swishing of his tongue along his teeth among the small shuddered exhales that escape him upon a held breath. 'This is real.

She is here. I am here.

This is real.'

A few more policed respirations lead in clearing the way for him to think back to just earlier as once more from her comes a drawn, wistful intro into an old folk song. V's fingers loosen, the weight on his chest unfurls as he tries to imagine the wondrous scenes the book she read aloud painted into his imagination. Such an uplifting novel in it's simplicity, so easy on his ears as they both listened to the words and focused on the sound of the petite woman that spoke them.

Her steady, light tone brought forth such emotion translating the text from a plain paper page inciting the creation of true beings populating the ever-black as it became desert sands and blue skies. In his trance he stood with his golden-haired fairy, following the unraveling story of shepherds, kings, gypsies and alchemists and treasures sought in the ancient realm of Egypt amidst its time of reigning glory whence pyramids dotted the landscape in their towering, magnificent grandeur, shining like a holy beacon as the sun reached its apex in the glowing sapphire heavens.

Rika's dulcet, soothing voice ever as much and more beautiful than the lands and people being spun, a few things stuck out the most. Things that even Rika herself had been trying to tell him over the two years of loss... Throughout the years he claimed her as dead.

... A mistake he'll happily spend a lifetime and beyond to amend.

Earlier on, her voice nearly broke its momentum as she had vocally smiled, he'd noted. "It's the possibility of having a dream that makes life interesting." A few fluttering flips of the pages brought out another instance to which he smiled along with her. "And dreams are the language of God. When he speaks in our language, I can interpret what he has said. But when he speaks in the language of the soul, it is only you who can understand."

There were many things of the like in the book Rika named as 'The Alchemist' by one Paulo Coelho, but after those few, he just allowed the sights to flood his mind, finding solace in the visions within his own blindness and letting this time with his soul's partner be one made of fantastical colors and ever-shifting wonders of which he could not have enjoyed in any other circumstance.

This injury-induced void is more a gift than a curse. While, yes, he mourns for the loss of his vision; V's scorn for his previous insensitive and ignorant vulgarisms is far greater. Within this gift, he has learned the intimacy of understanding. He's learned the truth behind hearing through mere words into their true essence. While as an ex-photographer, he is now useless; as a singular being, he has been enlightened to so much more.

There is a feeling upon the wind that otherwise, he would have been blind to; a sight keener through not seeing at all.

As his hands finally fall to a loose lay atop the curved, carved armrests, raised lines of patterned flesh decorate his sore palms and aching prints; the teal-haired man once again finds himself both present and lost within the inflecting lilts of Rika's celestial, radiant voice. The rapid pecking of her keys keep a perfect, surprisingly lulling, tempest's beat with the mesmerizing song at her lips that brings forth an image of his love as a mythical being; a mermaid that lounges side-saddle upon an overhang at a craggy cliff's edge. Rain patters in splashes and dots around her as the waves crash against rock in a near constant roar. Rika's skin and phantasmal scales shimmer with the iridescence of pearl and rainbow as each catch a rare ray of light peaking through clusters of grey when she raises her face to the cloud-scattered vault. Her voice, Rika's voice, reaches out like a beckoning, inviting hand, curling and cutting through all the noise, bringing it all together as something irresistible, desirable. It calls to him and V can't help but to listen ever closer.

He licks at his lips, the distinctly bitter, honey-doused cups of tea still faintly evident in the dry cracks left by his ventures from the nights before. His entire body molds to the form of the chair, stomach and veins and mind a delicious warm that lingers like a stoked flame encompasses him in entirety.

V lets himself smolder; he lets himself burn, melting peacefully in this song-filled room.


	68. Chapter 68

"You're snoring~." A thick voice burbles and distorts, surrounding you as you drift in and out of consciousness, your ears catching too much sound and not enough all at once. A glow of blue and lit black filters through the back of your eyelids. They shudder as you huff, irritated at the meager disturbance between you and that thin line anchoring your mind to the inviting world of velveteen slumber and the abrasive, prickling pins and needles of the waking world. Upon that line, you cling to the middle, holding such a fickle thing in a tight grasp, wanting to pull yourself under farther, deeper; to no longer float here as the fog swirls around you as if you were submerged in a pool of dim waters.

"Sckrrrrr!" The pull of your lungs hiccup, a small snort rattling the back of your throat that startles you into a jolt and shatters the mist encompassing your astral being as your eyes fly open, just in time for a fuzzy, unfocused finger to tap you on the tip of your unsuspecting nose. "Mnnhh!... Fuck... Stop~."

"You first." The bed shifts, bouncing a little as the hacker re-settles back into a lay. His head is slightly propped up by his folded arms, tucked neatly at the underside of his neck as he blows out a sound of relief. "Phoo~! You were so loud I thought my head was going to fucking explode."

"...'M not that bad." You sniff in an inhale, moving to stretch and immediately regretting it. "Ahhh! Shhhhii- Mmnn... Nope." Your nape and lower back have seized, stiffening with the shocking jolts of pain at your spine that practically holds you paralyzed, your arms extended dumbly and useless as they seem to pulse with a dull ache that slithers down their lengths and around your pits. "...Ffffuck... Remind me to never move again..."

"What's wrong?" The mattress jiggles a bit as he seems to chuckle to himself silently at your predicament. "Can't handle a little bit of dance, 'bronze?'"

"Heh heh." You try to turn your head, to look over at that smug-ass face but wince when the physical, searing volt of 'unh-unh-unhhh'-equivalent strikes you again. "... Fuck you."

"Testy." Saeran whistles, amused and unperturbed. "I thought you liked a little 'ouch' from time to time, no?" The bed quakes again. You know he's wearing a shit-eating grin and not being able to look him in the face when you retort is just pissing you off.

You grit your teeth and grimace as you slump your heavy, creaky, sore and stinging body onto its side. "You know that unintentional is NOT my jam." You manage to grind out in a grunt through gnashed molars, trying to sound as normal as possible with a tight, unnatural smile to punctuate your point. "...This?

This sucks... Unhhh...

...Did you nap pretty well?" Changing the subject off of you and your lack of ability to handle too much physical activity, you peek up to the disciple, watching as his lips pucker and his sigh rasps through the small space; his sage eyes catching both shadow and glow as they shift from the ceiling to slit upon you.

"No..." He holds that half-lidded glare for a beat, a single brow jutting up past visibility, hidden by his bangs. " I was next to a damn chainsaw."

"I'm not that bad!" You gasp at the audacity of such a claim. You're a quiet snorer, if even you snore at all. Such a claim is preposterous! "I... don't even snore." He rolls his eyes at this; as hard as anyone could possibly roll their eyes, it's happening right now, by him.

"What?!- No, no... You literally sound like you have to run a fucking motor through the night to charge yourself for the next day!" Through all of this, he's laughing while your face steadily grows warmer to the point where the apples of your cheeks on inward, atop your nose, stings.

"Nahhh... Stop..." Your focus is at the floof of hills made out of sheets being picked by your twiddling fingers all in front of you. "...Don't talk about it..."

"Like, how in the hell are you going to say whether or not you snore?" A vicious digit attacks one of your finely built, fabric pyramid establishments, making a tiny cotton crater in its wake. "You are asleep! You don't know! I know, though. Boy, do I fucking know."

If you could crawl into that tiny crater and burrow into the fibers to escape this, you would. Your face is on fire and your chest feels like its sunken, even though you're aware he's just playing around... It kind of... It... Well, it's just generally not a great feeling to hear that you are such a nuisance.

Shake it off. Look at that grin.

Don't take offense.

"... You do it too, you know." Really?! That's all you could come up with? The statement leaves your mouth as the verbal embodiment of sulking; lame.

"Yeah! I know. It happens." He shrugs. Its a weird sight, his elbows and chest the only clue you have to puzzle out what it was. "I didn't say I don't."

"...Does it really bother you?" Stupidly uncontrolled and meek, the question pops out. Damn it, just how needy are you? This is ridiculous and you are well aware but still, you want to hear his answer.

"..." He really knows how to build up dread and anticipation, this one. A growling sigh is the only warning you get before he frees an arm and bops you on the head with it, the flat of his palm thunking you on the skull right above your hairline. "Stop it."

"That's not an answer." Fighting through the stiffness and aches of your muscles to rub the spot that isn't really all that sore, you grumble. "It was a legitimate question."

"Stop it." He bops you again.

"Hey, not cool!" You fight off his hand and rub it again, with more ferocity and a grimace to boot.

"Well, quit asking questions that you know the answer to." The hacker nonchalantly shrugs again, speaking as if his non-answer was obvious enough. "If I had a problem with it, you would find yourself waking up in the hall, covered in an igloo of pillows."

"That would be uncomfortable." Musing more to yourself than anything, your gaze lingering over the lit boundaries of the doorway before resting back on the disciple.

"And it hasn't happened yet, so..." His brow lifts as he leans towards you a little, like he's waiting for you to connect the dots or have some sort of reality-shattering epiphany.

"Oh." Flatly you provide, letting your hand fall limp at your side as you turn back into the heated body dent within the blankets. "Yeah, okay then."

"Well, damn." He scrunches his nose. "Fine, forget I said anything about the pillows. If it happens, no pillows for you!"

"Yup." Sighing, you roll back over, closing your eyes. "Alright. I'm just gonna go back to not snoring, now."

"The hell you are!" You tilt with the pressure pushing the mattress at your side down giving only the slightest grunt, blatantly ignoring the creaks of springs and the volume of his voice as you walk the thin line of playing around with the disciple and genuinely wanting more sleep. "...I'll do it." Breath hisses hot and sinister at the shell of your ear making your nerves stand on end with both excitement and dread.

"..." Try as you might, it's hard to control your breathing into a steady beat when it feels like your heart is hiccuping and the expanse of your skin is an anticipatory limbo of 'when' and 'where' and 'don't' and 'do.' You double your efforts, clenching your lids and schooling your cheeks not to twitch into a smile as you lay 'asleep' not really fooling anyone.

"You're really testing me on this, huh?" The chuckle spreads across your flesh, your heightened senses soaking it all in as you tilt a little further, the hacker's voice bombarding all conscious thought with words like velvet. You almost shiver. Almost. "I told you, I'm not a liar~."

Just bracing for it isn't enough. Every smarting muscle is tightened for what's to come, so much so that you curl in on yourself as if to shield yourself with... yourself. Yeah, it's not a good defense; you didn't really think this through. That much is apparent when the first digging, intrusive digits begins to play your ribs like some sort of warped macabre piano and the front of your thigh like dough that needs to be kneaded.

"Ahhh! Noooo~ -ah-haha!" Your shriek is loud, the giggles erratic and suffocating in the intensity of compulsory that forces the air out of you in fits of joy you just weren't ready for. "Heh heh ha...Don't-!"

" I did warn you~." Saeran's hands glide along all those damned spots, his tips working devilish black magic against your frazzled nerves and wriggling, seizing form. You catch only short glimpses of his smirk and the evil glow in his eyes between the shocks of white behind your lids and the stars speckling your vision. "You know what to do to get this to end." Your poor abs have cramped up by now; the fatal combination of exhaustion and swollen, sore sensitivity drowning you in the shallow depths of all kinds of fucked up. You can't catch a single good breath, the laughter is too hard and seemingly endless.

"Ooh hoo hoo haah~" Panting out, you manage to inhale in drags through your nostrils and hiccuping gulps straight into your stinging lungs. "I -haha hee ooh hoo- I GIVE!"

It feels like your stuck in an eternal loop of asphyxiating giggles and the need to pee. Those slit, mischievous sage alight on you as you writhe and wrack yourself against soft comforters and blankets that entangle themselves around your limbs that pin you down like a rack for torture.

That is, until his fingers lift from your tormented, hackling skin and you are finally allowed access to the abundance of cool air that bombard your heaving lungs, leaving your mouth dry as you flick away streams of tears that have loosened down your hot cheeks. "Haah~

... holy shit...

You... You're evil."

"Nah." His digits twitch as he lets them hover over you, an amused brow lifting as he slowly shakes his head from side to side, never breaking eye contact. "I'm not evil, but I COULD pretend some more if you want-?"

"-NOPE!" Dropping a tickle-claw, the disciple laughs behind his cupped palm as you practically shoot up from your sprawl and back into the wall, wincing the entire way. "Nope, I'm good."

"You sure?" That feigned innocence can't fool you. He's got that glint that just screams of danger and the possible loss of continence. Best to just nip it in the bud and bow out now.

This is one you just can't win.

"Yeahhhh... no." You clear your throat and collect yourself as best you can, muscles and joints screaming at you all the while as you rub yourself down; the flats of your hands and knuckles and tips of your fingers pressing at knots, trying to alleviate the tension of some left over hardcore dancing and unwelcome goosebumps. You hiss, hitting a particularly achy patch on your chest that sends jolts of bad along your ribs and arm, and you shudder as you catch a whiff of what lay beneath when you unearth your ungodly pit. "Lughh." The pungent smell of warm musky sleep mixed with unattended action stink sits on the back of your tongue, teasing out a tiny gag. Promptly, you put your arm back down to cover your shame. "We stink."

"Correction: YOU stink." His features pull into an almost cartoonish pinch twisted with disgust and offense as he points at you accusingly. "I smell like fucking roses, I don't know what you're on about."

He's so sassy today, what the heck? You're not going to complain though. He's adorable when he dishes out 'tude.

"Sure, sure..." Waving him off, you work yourself up enough to get up off of the bed. But before you leave, a wave of inspiration hits you.

You aren't really thinking about how gross this is as your fingers slide across your no-longer damp arm-pit, nor are you focusing on the stiff shocks of pain that slow your run after you face-check the unknowing hacker with the offending hand and make a bee-line for the bathroom door across the hall. You're more concerned about how good the pain of cackling like mad feels against your twinging ribs in this moment as you rush to lock the door behind you. The heavy thud and banging on the wood once you finally make the knob click only serves to make you laugh that much harder.

"D-Don't... Haha... Don't be mad..." You catch your breath a little as you walk, closing in on the toilet and calling over your shoulder. "Just because you stink like me.

Where're the roses now, Saeran~?"

TWUMP THWUMP THWUMP

"-Seriously, what the fuck?! Who even does that?!"

You do.

"Ah~." The sound of stream hitting porcelain and the percussion of perturbed knocks and grumbles really make for wonderful revenge. "I did it... Obviously."

You smile to yourself.

Because it's nice to be able to act like a jackass from time to time.

THWUMP THWUMP THWUMP!

"I swear to god, if you don't let me in there so I can wash off the stank, I will make sure you'll never sleep soundly ever again!"

THWUMP THWUMP

"Just a min~ute~!" You snicker to yourself, taking more time than is necessary to clean yourself up.

THWUMP THWUMP

"I'm serious!"

"And, I had to pee.

It was urgent.

Which was, by the way, your doing." Flushing, you hobble over to the sink, flicking on the faucet and lathering up. "Hey... While you're out there, can you grab us some clothes?"

THWUMP

"..." From the other side, you hear a sigh and a slow, dragging scrape like nails sliding down its surface. "...Fine."

"Heh... I win~." You sing the words to yourself, drying off your hands and scoping out the first-aid kit from the last place you left it.

"I heard that." The voice is faint, but you catch it from through the door and across the corridor.

"Pfft. I know you did! It wasn't a secret!" You didn't know. He surprised you, but he doesn't need to know that.

You grab the little case, opening it up with a few clicks and start setting things out that you'll need to re-dress the disciple's many various wounds before stepping over to the large tub to fill it up with some good smelling soaps that bubble up quite nicely. Checking the temp with your palm and underside of your wrist, you make sure it's not too hot nor is your bath going to be too chilly. It's just right; beautifully frothy, the aroma of honey, oats and vanilla gently emanating from the surface, it is calling for you in ways that make your limbs well with distinct yearning.

But first, you need to unlock that door.

Easy enough.

For some reason, it's always been a fairly simple task to let him in, you muse. Rooms where you feel the most exposed and vulnerable, your mind and its wierd-ass wayward and cyclical thinking, your facade... You want him closer, always closer.

The lock pops up as you turn the knob, a sheepish smile on your face clashing with the scowl etched into Saeran's brow above a small hill of folded fabric.

"... Ahaha... What's wrong?" You back away, further into the room. Well, maybe not that much closer at this very moment.

"..."

"Uh... Thanks for grabbing clean stuff for us!" You try once again to divert his attentions and fill the eerie, forboding silence, to no avail. "Heh heh... heh..."

"..." He steps in after you, a free hand closing the door. It's almost as if you can hear the faint scraping of metal on metal through the pounding of your own heartbeat within your ears as it is turned purposefully into the locked position once more. You can't escape, can't run away any more. You're fucked. "You do know that I'm going to get you back, right?"

You nod dumbly, ready to book it if he even looks like he's thinking about giving chase.

"Maybe not now, but soon... When you least expect it." Your heart is racing, a nervous giggle bubbles out as you shed the dirty clothes from your frame taking what small relief you can from his words of impending vengeance. "So soon~."

"..." You pause, taking a moment to let his words sink in before you snort out a couple of chuckles. "And you say I'M weird-."

"-You ARE." Interjecting, he gives you a straight stare that you can only nod at in firm agreement.

"Touche'." Stark naked, crossing your arms over your chest, you sigh. "...Can't argue that..." Saeran lifts the tank up and over his head, shimmying out of his boxers. A brow quirks as you scan the well-being of his bandages and the edges of medical tape that are sticking up in places. "...Can't argue it one bit."

"Pervert." The hacker puffs and shoots you a glare before covering his nipples with just his splayed fingertips. You smirk at the utter ridiculousness and appreciation of his failed attempts at modesty.

"Never really denied that, either."


	69. Chapter 69

_**A/N:**_ _I literally have gotten no additional writing put together. Listen, you all are aware of the ridiculous and dumb amount of doctors appointments and labwork I have been *blessed* with, right? Well, guess what? It gets BETTER! "How?" One might ask... Don't worry, I'll tell you! In the wonderful green and hilly town within Germany that I currently reside, a storm began to brew. Seemingly, a tornado decided it was too good to touch down (Which is great, I'm not complaining about that.) But, that resulted in a single 10 block diameter of neighbors waking up early to get to work to find large-ass trees uprooted and their vehicles not so neatly beneath them. Guys... Karma is a huge dick. lol... I can laugh about this because of insurance and the life lesson this ordeal has taught me:_

 _-Don't skimp on the renter's insurance option (I did, to save money but... Bye bye $1000ish in fees an deposit that came out of pocket that very morning~!)_

 _-If you can afford it, the smaller deductibles will be a lifesaver in the long run (the realness is real, so real.) Phew~!_

 _-Things can happen very quickly and unexpectedly. Make sure you go to bed at the end of the day knowing that you've told the ones that are dear to you how you feel about them. (If the tree had fallen the other way, if we were on the top floor of the apartment... things could have been much, much worse. This all literally happened overnight, and only in a span of 10 minutes. I know, because I remember waking up, being annoyed that some of the neighbors left windows open during the rain and they were slam-dancing against the wall on its hinges... at least, that was the conclusion I had come to without actually leaving my bed...)_

 _~God, I didn't mean for this to get so long and preachy! I'm sorry! Stay well and safe, you all!~_

Sweet is the air that smells of oranges and antiseptics. It leaves the taste of ghostly sugar and bitter medicine ever hovering in the back of their throat as the wood polish makes their skin feel slick with every shining swipe.

It's a good feeling. Cooling sweat on the brow that tingles and a shine to their arms and hands that won't simply wipe away. It means that they have kept busy. It means that they have stayed at least a bit useful in this underground sanctum, locked away from the outside world and the possible attempts at their life from the people they once called peers and colleagues. It's a good feeling, albeit a little grimy and unsettling; both on and below the surface.

This is probably enough. Vanderwood should take a moment to themself, take a breather, wipe the perspiration stick from their forehead and sit down for more than a few minutes at a time... But...

They can't.

As the hours tick on, it is getting harder and harder not to shove a gag in the red-head's mouth. Those stuttering snorts and long, drawn-out whining growls are wearing on their last nerve; already frazzled by circumstances to begin with.

They can't lose it now.

Did they do the right thing?

Yes... Right?

Well... There isn't much they can do now, at this point. The deed has been done, the seeds sown. All there is left is to wait it out and let their plan bear fruit. Each minute spent among the beeping, clicks, and nasal chorus is ,in the best case, another operative down that would be on their trails. The more patience, the better their chances of existence once they emerge.

They need this down time.

Both of them.

Zero-Seven should definitely get his rest even if his snores are more than annoying, otherwise he'll just be even more unbearable to watch and deal with, stumbling around and tossing stuff about as if things don't have their own place of belonging.

Really, it's not difficult. Recyclables in the recycling, trash in the trash cans, dirty clothes in a fucking hamper! But most dire, codes in their correct line and eyes on the cameras meant to be watched.

They almost drag an oily hand through their hair, but stop just short of their roots, letting it fall lifelessly back at their side. That isn't important.

But what really is important to Vanderwood if it isn't the small details? What does the former anonymous operative find precious? What is the point of all of this?

They aren't exactly sure but...

They've been keeping a good watch on things here. Adequate enough to know that the streams of light filtering through the upstairs garage door have gone from non-existent to bright, shadows shifting with the movement of the sun in the sky to nothing once more. The ex-agent has peeked into the screens enough to have that hollow feeling of isolation and creeping desperation that comes with being nervous, excited and terrified all at once.

They are free.

They are in a cage.

They are prey staying captive in order to thwart their hunters.

The brunette's skin prickles, up their forearms and down their spine. Another grating snore makes them gnash their teeth, the jitters making their fingertips tremble as they rub at the irritation and stand up once again.

They have to keep moving.

They have to be vigilant.

They have to vent out the frustration that is building by doing all that they can and doing nothing at all, all at once.

They don't have answers to their own questions. Not now, but maybe someday... If they get the chance to live through all of this uncertainty.

It's hard to breathe when all you want is to scream. It's hard to think when all the thoughts, each and every possibility takes what little leeway given to bombard their mind with confusion and migraine.

They absently rub their digits together, watching as the fine sheen glistens beneath the fluorescent lights and click their tongue.

Luciel said he had to leave again. He said that there was somewhere that he needed to go, there were people he needed to talk to.

Is leaving the safety of this bunker the wisest choice? Literally all that they have known for nearly two decades now is imploding. Life isn't like the action movies seen on the big screen. The chosen protagonists don't always find some way to survive through it all. There is no special pill to ward off death, no armor that guarantees ultimate survivability against guerrilla tactics.

Everything has a weakness.

This plan very well may be the sleeping hacker's.

Earthen eyes take in the spotless floor, the glow from overhead that makes their hard work sparkle in halos and the rich couch housing the sprawled body of a mussed young man, sleep deprived yet determined.

So many thoughts, so many feelings... Their head pulses, thrumming with the beat of their own heavily beating heart.

This kid. This priorly quiet kid. This good kid turned joker. This... actor. This ...friend.

This could be the end of him, right along with the non-life they've left behind.

What's it all for. Is what he is planning worth it, worth risking his life for something so undetermined, undefined... Is there any real meaning?

...Can he do this, whatever it is? Can he make it out alive?

Damn it! Why can't he just wait it out?! Why can't he just wait until there's more of a safety net? Let the proper authorities clean house a bit more before running head-long into some other unknown source of danger like the idiot he so dutifully pretends to be?!

The ex-agent sighs, the sound rattles the back of their throat in it's dryness before they move on to the lower floor. There is laundry to be sorted and folded. They can't just keep thinking, it will only serve to piss them off and worry them more.

They have their own existential bullshit to process... Unfortunately, the redhead just so happens to be part of it. Vanderwood is loathe to admit it out loud, never will it ever pass their lips but... they can't think of a single pleasant scenario where this living, long-term thorn in his side is removed.

Maybe in a different life he would have followed orders that meant for the boy's head to be very intimate with ammunition from their gun... But right now...

Right now he's the only thing that makes the former operative feel like a human rather than just a tool to be used. If they are to be free from it all... the boy should be too. It's only right. Fair. This was his plan, after all.

But, for fuck's sake, Zero-Seven! That snoring might just make them snap and smother the red-head a little.

Just a little. He wouldn't even know.


	70. Chapter 70

The current pulls in a deluge of water in rush past the undersides of your toes as its silent rush gives a low whirring vibration to the basin of the tub; the contents are draining both too slow and too quick for you. Plumes of frothy bubbles have dissipated as you've washed up Saeran's torn flesh, guiding cloth gingerly around scrapes and bruises and cuts, letting him become putty in your hands as you scrubbed the sweat from his hair only to pull far away when your job had come to an end.

The memory of the way he felt in your arms only a night before came crashing against your body in a surprising tidal wave of phantom heat and sensitivity. The gruff, gravelly tone of his voice a ghostly echo in your ears that made your scalp down to your nape and spine tickle...

You had to get away.

You had to put that space between you before you succumbed to doing something completely stupid.

It's a strange feeling, being on the other side of this bath, washing yourself in distracted silence, keeping your eyes dutifully trained on the iridescent glow of one fragile little orb until it would burst and you'd move on to another, taking great care in the little details of your cleansing and definitely not looking at the scabbing lines that decorate his porcelain-like skin; assuredly not thinking about how the ugly deep kiss that mars his neck looks as if it were a rare flower blooming from the hacker's flesh itself or how the sight might, hypothetically, make you want to create more of those horrid yet alluring buds.

This strange distance is safety.

Your heartbeat and dwindling self-control and dignity are all competing with the growling, slurping of a growing cyclone of used water into the pipes beneath. The further the level of liquid in this basin falls, the more you scoot into your own curved corner, a million things racing through your brain, but none sticking; not a single clear thought for your mind to hone in on that doesn't branch off at least a thousand different ways.

Its hard to breathe, your throat is so dry that when you swallow your tongue sticks in places you didn't think could be that fucking sticky. You feel sick, your stomach is doing so many flips, so many damn tumbles as it both tickles and sinks. You've been struck silent, eerily so, and if he's said anything to you since you've stopped maintenance on his scalp...

Well, sorry... You haven't heard a single word of it.

Because, you are huddled in your spot pressed up tight against the smooth surface, slowly getting colder as you fight a pointless mental battle with yourself.

The moment you removed all his bandages, you wanted to kiss the disciple for each and every scar he holds on his body.

The second you grabbed that rag to help clean his injuries, you wanted to let your fingers roam, to massage him down and make the good feelings outweigh the bad.

So badly do you just want more. More laughter, more jokes, singing terribly to each other and the pranks... ALL the pranks. More of him. Further than that... You crave to give him more of you. You want to share so much, and even still that doesn't seem like it would be enough.

As you passed your tips through his sudsed-up mane, the way he'd bite a moan off so that it would rumble in his throat when he'd lean into your touch took each and every breath straight from your lungs and send fire through your veins so hot that every nerve would buzz in damn near tangible sparks as you willingly allowed yourself to suffocate at his hind until you dutifully completed your task to the best of your inebriated, light-headed abilities.

A grand, frustrating, addicting intoxication:

Saeran.

God... It's not the time for your bullshit, right now.

He's hurt and sooner or later, you need to get your naked ass out of this tub, face him and yourself and bandage him up properly.

He did say that he'd tell you if he didn't like anything you did...

He did handle a couple hours of intense dancing and hasn't complained seriously,-or even at all, really... Maybe he's okay? Or, maybe he just wouldn't complain...

That sinking feeling in your gut is back.

No... It never really went away. Never does.

Fuck... Why are you like this?! What does it fucking matter? It's not like anyone has ever told you no when you offered yourself up like a whore before! Hell, if he did-

NO! You aren't like that. Saeran isn't like that... He's like you... He's had similar experiences as you. You can't do that to him... You can't KEEP doing this shit to yourself, either!

...

Your eyes sting, and you blink, sniffing away whatever remnants might give you away as the last inch of broken suds and foggy water succumb to the hollow depths of the plumbing below.

...What the fuck are you doing?

What is this?

He told you to trust him. You should try, at least.

But... Is it really that? Or is it that you don't trust yourself? Are you afraid?

Honestly, that's a stupid question, even as directed inwardly to yourself as it is. You get up, still deaf to all that's going on around you; they sound off in muted, warped blurbs and unintelligible hums as your digits grip the slick surface and you push up, steadying on legs gone numb and toes wrinkled and cold. One foot after another, you flex your feet, letting the coarse fabric of the makeshift rug beneath your water-logged limbs peak between each crevice, patting the friction back into your soles as you reach out, grabbing your towel from the counter before you.

This is so dumb...

Idiotic even... When aren't you scared of something? Breathing out a sigh into the dampened fluff, you hastily drag it down your face and each arm, tracing over your chest, stomach and each leg before drawing the cloth all the way up your back to the top of your head where it now sits like a melted nest or some sort of cracked-out muppet wig. You don't know, you haven't looked in a mirror, you can venture a guess, though. But, you do see that box of first-aid in all of its plastic glory, shining beneath these awful lights and without a second thought, you take it into your grasp.

You still have some work to do.

Quit being you for a second and just do what you can to help.

Your stride is quick, deliberate, even if to you it feels like it's taking an eternity to reach your destination of a few measly feet. It's almost like a dull, ever-present ache now not being as close as you can to the disciple. This space in-between feels cavernous, chilly, lonely ... It's missing that extra something so much that right now it's as if you are a kid again just playing pretend.

Did you make all of this up in your head or is this real?

You don't know...

Not now, not yet... Not at all.

"Hey..."

"Oh... It speaks!" A small curve crawls upon the hacker's lips even as those sharp sage narrow in on you. "Thought you were too busy giving me the cold shoulder? What's up?"

"Nah... Just thinking. Hold this for me." Without waiting for reply, gently as you can, you plop the plastic case in his lap and unlatch it to reveal its contents.

"Thinking isn't all it's cracked up to be... 'Specially for you." Saeran sticks his tongue out at you on a chuckle and you pause only briefly enough to scowl at the man before picking through gauze and tapes to get to the ointments and balms swimming at the bottom. "But really... What... Uh.. What were you thinking about? You were kind of, really, out of it there for a while. It was like watching a body-snatcher learning how to take a bath. Some real horror film type of shit..."

"It's nothing, really...-"

"-That's what they all say before they choose their next victims."

"You haven't even seen that movie have you?" On a grunting listless giggle, you slide out a thick slug of greasy gel onto the tip of your index finger and begin dotting it along the wounds that are more than just superficial scabs. "That's not how it works, dork." It's been a while since you've seen it yourself... You have no idea what you're talking about, but if it keeps the topic off of you it's fine-

"What WERE you thinking about then?" From your station below, now working on a pretty nasty scrape along his ribs, he nudges your knee with a toweled thigh. It's not enough to topple you, but you rock onto your toes a bit, jostled. "And don't say 'nothing.' I've been around you long enough to know that you don't get spacey-quiet unless you're remembering bad shit or guilting yourself over something stupid.

Which is it?"

"I.. don't...?" Are you sure about that? No.

He sighs without missing a beat. Maybe you do.

Finishing up the marks on the disciple's side, you shuffle around to his back, relief loosening the tension left by his appraising stare, yet the silence hangs heavy in the air as he sits waiting for something more from you. Reloading the arsenal of ointment on your digit, you run your tip along the deeper lines of raised pink flesh.

Most of these could probably do fine without dressings, now. What used to be a blazing painful-looking scarlet now is nothing more than a few irritated rosy lines or rough pin-width scabs that don't even run in continuous paths.

"I'm serious..." Your digits trail delicately over the faint marks still left, the greasy gel deposited to the small scabs to soften them and aid them in healing just a little bit faster, if anything. "It's... nothing."

His constant concern only makes you want him that much more; to be as close as two people can without sharing the same soul. The underlying warmth in his voice, you want to feel along your skin; to bask in the feel of this man and the emotions he pulls from you. It makes you want to give him everything you are...

Because, what else can you offer him?

You have no talents, no skills, no real personal goals... You aren't even sure your personality is your own, more like a quilting of others banded together with shoddy stitching and uneven lines. You are a hollow person, all you have is this shell of yourself to give. And... You'd give it gladly.

He hums out a disbelieving yet resigned tune.

The joint of your knuckle brushes against the dampened locks at the crook of his neck as you move them out of the way in order to get at that ugly but beautiful bruise and bite; a piece of you left on him that gives you chills just thinking about.

You did this. This is your claim laid bare and here he sits, wearing it like a champion. You breathe in deep and hold it before letting it go slowly, trying to school the pounding in your chest and the goosebumps spreading rapidly across your body.

It could also be partly because you haven't dried properly and are completely naked, but that doesn't explain the queasy butterflies and heavy anchor that's made its home in your stomach.

You linger, not really meaning to, but the harsh contrast of soft skin and the teethmarks you left on him provide a fascinating feel against your slicked up prints as each small crest zips along the tiny grooves.

Snap out of it, damn it.

Clearing your throat, you pull your hands away.

"Be right back. Need something to drink." Removing the haphazard plop of fabric from the top of your head, you wrap it around yourself quickly before running into the door with a graceful thump, forgetting in your haste that it is both locked and completely shut. Your slippery fingers fumble with the knob a little before you are once more free to traverse the hall. "Heh... yeah... That happened."

"Okay..." You can hear a small amount of rustling, you expect he's turned around but you are too far into your trek to look back. "... There's like two faucets right here."

Your pretty sure he doesn't know that you heard that, no matter how low of a whisper it is, the acoustics made sure his message was sent. But no, dear. No. You need something a little more quenching than water. You need something that will help quiet your mind and tone down your fucking hormones. You need to chill the fuck out and if it takes medicating to do that... So be it.

This is for you and for him.

The mussed blankets of the bed hold no clues, neither does the desks, shelves or dresser. Well-bathed or not, without even a second thought you find yourself on your hands and knees, cheek pressed into the floor below.

Holy hell, you should probably bring in a broom and vacuum and get to work at some point, but... that doesn't matter right now. You've found your decently-full treasure and a stretched reach of an achy arm sees it into your pruned-up grip.

"Ah-ha! Finally." Giving the palms of your hands and the cap of the bottle an obligatory wipe-down onto the front of your towel, you uncork the top and give yourself a mighty generous helping. Beads of diluted medicine and honey pool and dribble from the corner of your mouth as you fill your cheeks, gulping so hard that you can the sheer volume of your drink get caught in you chest on its way to your stomach. Still, you keep sipping; you keep going until your mind is on the tight knotting of muscle and medicine and not on your own selfish wants.

The heat from your bath and the panic racing through your veins will help the meds to take quick enough, and God, for that you are thankful. You keep swallowing until the sounds of swishing from your cheeks is overpowered by a comforting hum that buzzes around your brain ever-so-slightly; like a blanket of fine furs encircling in a constant, comfortable and lulling perpetuity. Only then do you break from the spout, wiping the trickle from your chin and centering your self for a moment more briefly closing your eyes before turning back towards the door.

Those sage eyes spy you as soon as you pop into the frame, and thankfully this time, you can meet them with at least a faint grin. That steep edge of nerves and insecurities you were tiptoeing just minutes before has softened into a wider path. It won't take too much to topple you again, but for the time being, at least you have found your footing.

"Thirsty?" Holding out the bottle, only a few ounces still left splash and splatter at the clear plastic's curved insides as you stride through the hall and back into the bathroom.

"...Sure?" The hacker takes it from you, moving the case off his lap and setting it on the counter before taking out a small box from the kit's contents and pulling out a familiar chalky tab. Within seconds the top is off the bottle and faucet water is rushing into it, eating away at the tab until there is nothing left but a full bottle and a mystified you; standing there, mouth hanging gapped, watching the magic of laziness unfurl.

"How long has that been there?" All this time, you've gone back and forth to and from the kitchen to refill the medicine... and a supply has been right here, mere feet away all along.

Saeran shrugs.

"The kits are usually re-stocked every night... I'm pretty sure you've heard every chore description at least twenty times already. You should've known~." With a smirk and a few twists, he uncaps and takes in his own generous swigs, head bobbling the whole time.

"'You should have known' he says." You mock, but yeah... He's not wrong. You just never really listened because the thought of walking in on a stranger in the bathroom at night and the possibility of it happening multiple times was just too much for you and you immediately marked it off of your 'chore list.' "Well, I know now... Switch hands and lift your arm, nerd. I only have a few bandages I need to do this time because it seems you regenerate like fucking Wolverine."

"Who?" Gripping the scissors a little too tight, you end up snipping the strips of medical-grade cotton prematurely.

"...No..." You almost drop the gauze, hands frozen momentary disbelief and not working right. He isn't serious... Everyone has at least heard of Wolverine at some point in their lives, right? "...You poor, sweet sweet boy. I will guide you on this path to understanding." Regaining movement, you gingerly line up and pad the cotton lengths onto the shorter scratches and make sure they stick onto the ointment plodded there, petting each of them securely for a second before turning to retrieve the roll of clothy tape and some band-aids.

"Wow." Saeran stares at you over his shoulder, his chin tilting just enough to keep in line with you for your entire trip, face blank and silence humming thick over the sound of your steps slapping quickly against the floor. The moment your strides stop, a breathy chuckle that's more of a cough breaks it and he just shakes his head at you. "I was just kidding... Don't worry, I know of Wolverine, adamantium and all."

"Damn right, you do." The tape is leaving strings and stickiness on the tips of your fingers, but you manage to get every bit in its designated place without tangling yourself in the process. You sigh, stepping back to admire the clean aesthetic of it all before plucking the waxy papers from a patch bandage and giving it a fake power-slam right onto the hickey that is starting to make your stomach feel weird again. You sigh once more, this time in relief.

"Yep, okay." The hacker absently picks at some of the new patch's edges, places where it's folded up a bit. "Sooo... You want to tell me what had you all weird earlier, or are we just gonna pretend like you went deaf and blind for a solid 20 and that that's completely normal?"

"Yes." You don't want to talk about it. Not at all. You both have gone through this before, rehashing old shit is just going to be irritating and confusing to you, even though his answers always seem to be magically crystal-fucking-clear. No, right now, you just need to mull over his previous words and make sense of them yourself.

You need to rein yourself in, too. Get yourself together. This relationship is different. He seems to be okay with just you; Saeran has never once shown that he's bored with your presence, hasn't ignored you in favor of menial things... He hasn't pressured you into proving yourself to be worthy of him.

"Yes?" He sighs, the little roll of his eyes a tell that he expected as much, but still asked... So, why can't you be okay with this as it is, also? Why do you feel such an empty aching want every time you are with him, like something inside of you is just missing? Why the fuck are you so fucking needy? He's already given you so much!

You're so selfish.

"Mm-hmm. Ya." Humming, you squeeze out a little more ointment onto your fingers and lightly rub it into the raw, red irritation on the disciple's cheek. Any normal person having gone through what you have would be repulsed by the idea of intimacy, they'd probably try their best to enjoy the company of others but run at the idea of perverse activities... Why do you have to be different? Why do you intentionally look for an in and take all that you can get? This is just like 'him.' Just like 'her.' You don't want to be similar to either, but... if there is any fucking difference, you can't see it.

You make you sick.

"Okay, you make a fine masseur, buuuuut~ I think I'm fully coated and ready for mummification." A few digits wrap around your wrist and you internally shiver at the contact, your tips curl away from the wound, hand staying like that for just a little longer before you pull away enough to grab another patch bandage, prepping it with your pinky and thumb and then sliding it onto its final resting place. "Thanks."

"Yeah, yeah... No problem." Clearing your throat, you try to get the strength back into your voice. "I think the rest are good. Just try not to scratch at 'em if they get itchy."

With a stretch and a few pops of the spine, Saeran slings back a few more gulps before passing the bottle back to you. The second you have it circled in your hands, you are wrapped in a tight, warm hug. You tense, not expecting it; you were too caught up thinking about draining the rest of this supply too. Right now, though... The lips that have left their hot impression on your forehead and the scent of cleanly vanilla and sweet honey emanating from the hacker's bare skin pressed on to your own... You're blank. You don't want to move, don't want this to end. You don't want the chill that comes with being let go.

"I get that you don't want to talk about it and..." He's talking into your damp hair, every other word tickles the very tip of your ear and as difficult as it is for you to not melt into the embrace and ignore everything else, his voice is like a lifeline that you are grasping at desperately. It's a balance between drowning into yourself and letting your body sink into the whims you've been fighting back and the shocking bite of daylight that you can't hide you filth away from. "... that's okay. But, don't let your thoughts control you. Don't let yourself bring you down." He gives you a squeeze and its like you're gasping in a lungful of breath for the first time. It stings; your throat, your eyes, your lungs... But you feel as if an anchor and it's massive chain that has been weighing you down for long is beginning to form chinks in the metal. "This has been one hell of a fun day and you are the one that started it all.

You're fucking awesome... Don't ever think anything less than that of yourself."

"The fuck?" You laugh a little. It's thick and ugly and it hurts, but you can't help it at all. That's it, this proves it. He's a fucking mind-reader. "You are... so cheesy." You chuckle again.

"S'alright. Cheese is good." He gives you a tighter squeeze than before. " I like cheese."

You snort at this, lifting a hand from the surface of the bottle to give him a few good-natured pats on the hip before stretching out to grab at the pile of haphazardly folded clothes. You miss on the first couple of swipes -damn stumpy arms- but manage to somehow hook a corner around the tip of your middle finger and reel it into your waiting palm.

This situation is... not ideal. Two adults, scantilly clad, hugging in the middle of a steam-misted bathroom with the door wide open is just begging for some sort of mishap. That, and you need to gather your bearings. Staying like this is just going to make it harder to let go. It's going to make it more difficult to not slip into unwanted thoughts... You can't have that, not right now. You've already caused too much of a disturbance as it.

Armed with a fistful of cloth, you push it into his chest, breaking free of the warmth as you back into the humid yet cool air grabbing your own stack of clothes to take into the room. Raising them into an awkward salute, you give a nod a thin-lipped smile. "...Thanks." Pulling the door closed behind you, feet thwapping against the floor, you pad into the dim room, pulling a pair of loose boxers on underneath your towel on a few over-sized steps and a shirt on over top once you've completed the first task. With half-flick of the wrist, the towel drops in a pool of lumpy fabric at your feet that you care not to pick up at the moment; your face longs to be buried in downy fluff like a bedtime ostrich so you can hide from your own shame.

All it takes is a leap. A leap that rips through your calves like lightning through the sky to remind you of your age and just how much activity you participated in today. "Unnnggghhhhh!" You groan loudly into the mattress below you, and thankfully it censors the volume to your ears at a decibel comparable to an airy fart. Whatever.

Muscles. Emotions. Sleep. Hormones. Wants. Thinking... Fuck it all.

All of it.

Sucking in, you pull the meat of your cheek between your molars and slide the sharp forms along the sensitive flesh; enough to feel but not enough to bring blood and just groan. Grumbles of nonsense buzzing through the sheets as your shins dangle off the bed and your fists grip med water and blankets.

You don't even what you're frustrated at anymore, you just are. The growl dies down, your face is now uncomfortably hot so you turn it out, escaping your little hole so now your cheeks are squished into your nose from the ledge of your face-crater. Your lips are going in weird directions, but you don't give a damn. Dragging the bottle over folds and up to your mouth, you unstop the spout with your teeth and suckle at the medicine like an infant; sloppy yet persistent.

You want that fuzzy warmth and the mid-fog that comes with the right dose. It's so hard to get it back after the first time, and yet you keep trying; keep waiting to be that right mix of over-sensitive and numb, where everything is interesting and you don't have time to dwell on the things you've said, what you didn't say or what you did or didn't do.

Swallowing sucks in this position and you're pretty sure there's a huge wet spot soaking the bed and into your pores, but you don't want to move.

"I'm not laying in the wet spot." The suction from the cap lodged in your mouth breaks and a stream of burbling bubbles rush into the bottle in its wake. You cough as splashback shoots a couple of stray drops straight onto the back of your throat. "... I see you understand."

"Yep..." You choke out the word between hacks and an ill-timed inhale sucks water from the puddle around your face into your nose and lungs. Man, this was a terrible idea. Rocketing upward into an actual sit, you expel the unwanted fluids as gracefully as a ballerina takes to break-dance. There are tears involved, and snot... And if it weren't for the bad timing, you'd be a little more grateful for the hand rubbing soothing circles along your spine. "Yeah, that's fine..."

But you aren't. Your flesh prickles as you're caught in emotional limbo; you love that he's touching you, that he's so close but... He's touching you and he's really, really close. Your head still isn't foggy enough to shut down and already you heart is pounding bruises on the inside of your ribcage, working furiously to pump liquid fire through your veins as you wipe the disgusting moisture off your face with undersides of your wrists and palms in some vain attempt to reclaim a semblance of dignity.

"You good?" Panting to catch a non-liquid filled breath and through the veil of your random swiping, you spot wide side-eyes observing you.

"I'm great." Dropping your hands and cocking your head, the sarcasm burning acrid on your tongue, you smile up at the hacker. "Super."

The hand massaging shapes at your back gives a single straight rub up, dragging a little before it lifts off of you; which is both a huge relief and makes your chest heavy, missing the feel of him immediately.

Fucking hell... You've been dealing with this for months. It's been fine, you were able to brush it off and ignore it all, go on with life and do the things that you do. But, you just had to kiss him. You just had to demolish that wall with a sledgehammer and now your body just can't stop swinging, wanting to break into that next room.

Fuck's sake...

Why does he have to be so nice? Why does he have to be so understanding and listen to you? Why does he care so fucking much?!

The air in your lungs is just not enough, no matter how much or little, how fast or how slowly you breathe, it doesn't provide enough oxygen to ease you. Your bottom lip pulls between your teeth, your lids clench shut, your heart feels like its pumping in reverse and your head is far too light; the night sky full of stars framed by trees, the smell of dirt and wood ever present in the wind just outside your home, this mountain and it's nurturing nature and how it provides food and homes for all the animals that live on it... You think of all these things and just barely does it work. A single nasally breath catches enough for you to sigh into your next gasp, your eyes flutter back to open, blurry with the clump of your wet lashes, the taste of blood registers like watered-down pennies when you finally release your lip. You focus now on the dull pain now throbbing in pulses along your bottom row of teeth.

Stop... Just fucking stop.

"...Lamb..." Your brow is heavy, crumpled in the center as you avoid his gaze. With a fist, you use the heel of your palm to coax it back into a normal beat. "Don't lie to me...

You don't need to tell me everything but just...

Don't lie to me."


	71. Chapter 71

"We can have this to ourselves, every day.

We can be together for as long as you and I walk this Earth and beyond, back into the afterlife once more." Each trail she traces is one of fire and ice as downy tips run along the exposed and vulnerable expanse of his torso. They could be making words, could be pictures, they could just be gibberish, but the way they tickle and burn and trickle tingles into the blind man is of higher importance than the smaller details. Every lazy, sleepy stroke comes from a new place, a surprise that delights his flesh left lonely for so long; her breath puffs out, heating the ridge of his collar bone in intervals of sigh and words only to chill it with drawn inhale. "We can be happy, raise our family; our friends will always have a place to belong...

None of us will have to be alone ever again."

His mind still swims within that pleasant ocean, drifting along wherever the current takes him, even as he lay still, stationary within this bed.

Gone is the pecking of keys and songs in hum, V has bid chaste farewells to the vivid daydreams that kept him company in the time his angel was elsewhere; the echo of silence moves through the wind like a feather drifting to the ground; a symphony of chaos unheard by the human ear. Only once in a while does he hear more than his love's voice and the rustle of the breath from her chest; time does not mean much to a man that has all he needs within his arms but if he were to guess, every hour or so the peace would be broken by the rhythmic pats of sole against the hall's floors.

A curious sentry on watch? A guard? Another of many disciples just making rounds...

Perhaps. Yet, even the lack of privacy is of no real consequence.

There are eyes all around, but within the void- his void, ...their void- they are perfectly alone.

His heavy head is at home within the cush of pillows that carry her scent, his body wrapped in the clothes she has provided him, swathed in sheets that Rika herself has slept with for the time they have been apart. For a starved man once yearning just for a taste of that which he has craved, he is now being fed a feast grand enough for a king; devouring in sips and samples pieces of the blonde's past that he hadn't gotten to be a part of...

Until now.

"We belong together." Her love tastes of honey, her determination like the bitter tea they savored just hours ago. Each makes the other easier to swallow. "All of us."

"Mmmhm..." It's difficult to formulate words, in this relaxing slice of calignostic heaven maybe it would even be too intrusive to try; though the myriad spectrum of imaginary colors dancing throughout his mentality like vibrant paintings have all but completely ceased, his physical form still seems to be trapped somewhere in-between. He doesn't mind it though, Rika's whispers are more than enough, encompassing all in airy melody. In small gestures, his hand sidles it's way slowly through the remnants of his opened shirt and up the small dents of muscle to reunite with the dainty hand that is exploring it all; it only stops in order to welcome his into its embrace as if it were waiting all this time just for this moment. Their fingers still slide together so easily, a lace so tightly knit it's hard to imagine that the fit is only a recent readjustment.

"The association..." A faint tickle of what he can only guess to be tousled locks of golden hair brushes against the crook of the blind man's neck as the warm, curves of the body pressed into his own shifts, fitting the angles of his own so right, that he exhales in slight tremor upon a sigh.

"V, we did so much good for so long. The people we've lended aid, those families without homes...

Animals that would have met their end too early.

We all were a great team..." Her voice trails off into a feather-light kiss on his chest, the heart within thrumming the tempo of a man running a marathon, anticipating the next fiery velvet encounter. "...Do you think they will accept me as I am?

...Will it be okay to tell them that I'm not... You know...?"

V nods as much and as little as he can muster in simultaneous response, not wanting her questions to remain unanswered but not wanting to disturb the serenity with his head still afloat, swimming and bumbling incoherently. It's what they have wanted since the day he sinned, lying about a tragedy so unthinkable that didn't even occur. He hopes his gesture is able to convey that in the slightest as the tingling tips of his other hand busy themselves curling around the small dip of her hip and the smooth fabric covering it, pulling her in more; impossibly close and yet still not enough.

He was wrong to keep this part of her to himself for so long; a spoiled and rotting mess of a secret that he will need to clean up with care and the finesse of a man in confession.

He will right all in which he has wronged, he will. But right now, he's intoxicated by Rika; her love, her words, the way she feels, the scent of her... He will fix it all, but he wants to enjoy the high that is her for himself for just a little longer.

V has always been a selfish man, this he is already well aware of. But, in life there are some instances in which being selfish is completely acceptable; He is claiming this as his own. Maybe tomorrow will shed new light within the ever-dark; but right now all he can see is her and her phantasmal image, sprawled across crumpled sheets with him just like in his memories.

More.

V wants to see much more.

The bed dips around his form as the heat of his love intensifies only to leave him cooling, yearning for it once more; the frame around the mattress calling out in minuscule squeaks before the quick pad of small feet against the floor grows fainter. A dull thudding suction gives away the opening of a bottle and the tink of glass against glass tells the tale of wine being poured. He pays no more mind to the last drop that seems heavier than the rest of the stream or the carbonation that seems to come out of it.

He just wants her to come back.

His wish is granted a hundred fold as soft lightly dampened lips take his own in a confusing whirl of wood creaks and jostling as she gets back onto the mattress with him. One of her palms cupping the back of his head, the fingers locked into the turquoise strands as she leads him back upright, her legs folded firmly at his waist for balance, thighs squeezing at him for leverage.

The wine is so sweet. So very sweet that it is almost bitter in comparison to her and all she makes him feel. He follows her guidance without any restraint. He would be a mad man to resist.

Then again, it is precisely because he is a mad man that he follows; eagerly returning the hungered kiss with just as much fervor.

That hand tangled within his hair tugs harder and V's lips part in gasp, the bottom one she'd been sucking on is then free, delightfully swollen.

"Drink with me, dear. This is in celebration of our future." Chilled glass glides along the feverish flesh of his jaw; an agonizing, leisurely trail that willfully postpones satisfaction. Like this, he is her putty to form and break, to stretch and test; ad libitum. Though his throat dries like the Sahara in need of what flows in this slow-moving crystal goblet to quench.

Already the blind man is dizzy, but the fumes that stick in his lungs from her coated kiss and being held up by the small woman is akin to floating aimlessly among misty fog and heavy cloud. She is his only support, a lifeline. When the glass tips upon V's lips, he takes greedy gulps of the wine that is both too sweet and not enough as flames lick at his face and neck and chest, surely painting them in a scarlet hue.

As he drinks, the palm releases his locks, digits combing through before cradling his nape as wet little open-mouthed 'O's' rain down the curve of his neck, leaving the smallest patches of cold that tingle and heat in confusing yet ambrosial tandem.

All he can do is drink and feel, succumbing to the whims of the woman on top of him.

And, V can't help but to feel that all is right in this moment. He wants to stretch his wings and fly with this angel to the farthest heights; soaring the opens skies before it's time to come back down to Earth and rectify the misdeeds of his own past.


	72. Chapter 72

"Damn it..." the growl is more forceful than you'd intended, but... fuck it. You're frustrated, exasperated... Just all-over done. What more can you do? "It's not like I'm lying to you, okay? I don't what you want me to say, here Sae.

It's dumb. And, yeah..." Your hand juts up, the flat of your palm halting what you're sure was about to come out of that open mouth of his. "I get that you don't think so,

but I do.

All it is is the same shit, over and over again. I don't like beating a dead horse, especially since you've already said your part.

It's not fair to you for me to keep wasting your time on something as stupid as this- Heh, heheh" Your own bitter, hollow chuckle cuts you off. "And yet, I'm still doing it.

Go me~." Halfheartedly forming a fist out of the stop-sign that was your hand, you give it a little punch before throwing the bottle to your lips, pulling it open with your teeth and taking in enough of the spiked water to swallow the same mouthful twice.

"Dude, If something is still bothering you, you can still talk to me. I'm here, for fuck's sake... you're not alone-" Something within him burns, seethes with the necessity to reach out. The hacker needs you to know he's here, right by your side... Don't ignore him, please don't ignore him...

"-But that's the thing: I don't want to fucking talk to you!" It hits you as soon they leave you: wrong choice of words. WRONG choice of words. Holy fuck, your heart seizes in place while your stomach plummets straight through the floor. The way his brow pinches, his eyes dull slinking into a half-lidded resigned stare... You have to fix this, but how? What the fuck do you say after telling someone you don't want to speak to them?! Your mind is a barren wasteland, not even a tumbleweed string of syllables to help you along.

You are stranded.

"Oh. " The hacker breathes that word on what seems like the end of the air from his lungs. It's stunted, raw. His lips part again, close and then open once more only to reveal nothing. There is nothing more to say if words will do nothing. He's failed to provide for you the support you need, to relay his thoughts in a way you could understand. Maybe if here were better with words... maybe you would be happier than you are now and the mess he seems to leave you in every day. This is his fault... It has to be. Saeran's chest burns with ice, it's hard to swallow down this kind of pain when he's left so frozen and cold.

You've chewed a hole in your cheek. The meat is in stringy shreds that weave between your molars and tickle your dry tongue as you swallow the honeyed iron that sits on in it in a thin sheen.

Why do you do this? Why the hell are you like this?

Why can't you just be a miserable human being by yourself and not drag anyone else into it like the ravenous black hole you are.

You didn't mean it.

Not like that. Never like that.

"I-" You try and fail, dropping the bottle, not giving a damn about the splashes it makes on the already dampened sheets below. Your body is already up, your fingers already wound in the fresh shirt on his chest, your lips firmly pressing against his.

And just like that, he's melting. Like the last remaining frost blanketing the vibrant, timeless greens of spring, the unpleasant frigidity is falling away at your touch. Your mere nearness, the taste of the drops of paradise like candy upon your lips. He can feel your panic, can sense the pleading within the salt dripping down your pained face and the widening of your stare when he spoke. You care too much, but not enough for yourself. He can see it, your compassion and care calm him every day in ways even his Savior never had. He can see you... into you... Why can't you?

Why can't he seem to make you see?

It's his duty as a friend, a mentor, a guardian... The disciple can't even do this for you. It hurts. It hurts so much, but it's not nearly comparable to what you face every day... He should be riding these emotions with you, easing you into the peace of Magenta and yet, he has failed you at every turn.

What expression is he wearing right now? You don't know, but at this point, anything is better than that... lost emptiness.

Anger, shock, disgust... He should be wearing either one or all.

Because this is your fault, not his... He should feel those awful things towards you.

You sure do.

All you know is the the hacker is stock-stiff beneath you as your hands run the smooth plains of his chest, the curved angles of his collar and the back of his neck when you pull him in closer. Your lips work small soft pecks all over his own in your own version of apology all the while your lungs cease to work correctly and your heart once more begins its vicious, quaking backward pumps.

Feather-light yet full of force, your trembling hands caress the hacker so tenderly. He doesn't deserve your touch, but you can't seem to see that he hasn't truly earned the adoration that your hold contains nor the way your eyes soften, cherishing him with every glance. Right now, you are hiding behing those locked, damp lashes; trying to shield him from the overwhelming empathy and adoration that seems to be tearing you to pieces even while wrapped in his embrace. Can he really not help you tend your inner demons? Has he ever had a chance that hasn't been squandered? Saeran doesn't know, but right now, the petal-soft pecks that tickle send shiver at a roll down his spine, interrupting important thought with even more pressing action. Your tears kill him; your kiss brings him back to life.

If he can't tell you, he needs to show you. Can he spark life back into you as well?

Your throat stings, your face feels numb yet tingly in the worst pins-and-needles sort of way, but you've started this again and you can't find the strength in you to stop. Especially not with the plush of his own mouth accepting your piteous apology in sweet suckles that seem to pull more breath from your chest or the way his arms wrap around you like they were meant to be there; at home with your body and a soothing balm to the bristling of your mind.

"I'm sorry!-" A sob that you can't fight chokes out of you between heady nips, your cheeks are hot and damp in frustration, confusion and strain as your eyes burn beneath clenched, swollen lids.

Damn it.

Saeran deflates at the abrupt apology, letting it hang in the air, ringing so desperate and tortured in his ear. What can he do for you to ease the troubles that weigh tons upon your shoulders? How can he help alleviate your burdens when he hasn't a clue how to begin? He tightens his hold. It's all he can do in this helpless, woeful state. Tremors wrack your frame so bad he can sense them down to his bones; even still you are trying to stand tall. Even now, you are trying to show him a better you... Is there even such a thing? He can't fathom the thought...

Still, with everything you have, you kiss him. Your body is trying to suffocate itself and even in the face of death itself you would continue. He needs to see how pathetic and disgusting you really are. The sobs cut in once, twice, three more times before your chest constricts in desperate plea for oxygen that leaves you limp, wracked with gasps and supporting yourself fully in lean on the sturdy frame of the silent disciple whose palm that cradles the back of your head is nearly too gentle and warm for you to handle.

You don't deserve his kindness... his tolerance is wasted on you.

To watch you lose yourself to your sadness is something the disciple's chest can't take. Like a vice, his heart is being squeezed, clamped in such a way that shoots a stabbing sort of agony throughout his entire existence. He feels trapped, but you are in the cage. If there were ever a freedom that he could attain and hand to you right now, he'd do so for you upon a platter of gems and gold. He would spare no expense if he could just see a real smile from you for the rest of your life. But, your difficulties are shadow and veiled, masked to all that are not a resident to your own mind. He is tugging... can't you feel him tugging, trying to uncover them enough to shoo them all away? What will it take for you to let him in? How much longer, how much better does he have to become in order to catch a good hold?

"I don't-" You suck in a useless gulp of air against the bandaged flesh at his neck as it crinkles with the onslaught, "I don't-" Your stomach is in knots, turning in swirling quease, cramping and sinking at your own god-awful display, "I don't want to do this to you." Finally, you bite out on an over-extended exhale, tightening your own hold on him as if he was going to let go at any moment and let you fall.

He should.

The disciple balks. Still, even drowning in the depths of despair you think of him first... Fire blazes at the back of his throat. His hands, in a still lay curl more intensely against your fragile frame. If he held you any tighter, would you break? If he tried to hold you any tighter, would you end up cracking yourself? So shrouded are you in a ball of threaded mystery knots of numbness and laughter cross and tangle with tears and scars that through it all, you still try to patch together with a smile. To unravel you would take time, so much time... But you are worth it... Don't you know that to him, you are worth anything... everything, and, priceless all at once.

Fresh, scalding sheets of tears stream onto him as even still, you press your lips to whatever skin you can reach; this torrent of clashing emotions too much for you to make any sense of with the specks of black dotting your slit, cloudy vision and the pain that's throbbing in your chest like an icy, hollow cavern being trespassed by a rising tide of boiling longing and need.

It hurts.

Everything hurts.

"I'm sorry..." Forcibly moving your sore, heavy limbs to lift off the shirt that he just put on; the way you have to part with him for those short moments while you peel the layer from him in a rush less than graceful. That voice in the back of your mind that is cackling sardonically as you are left wracked with gasps and sobs on the outside.

Again with the apologies... The hacker nearly panics when you put space between you, barely noticing he's being shed of a shirt. He doesn't mind. In fact, he would allow you anything if it meant being closer to you. If only you could get it through your head that he would grant you any wish you made, any request you may have. If he had the power to give you what you need, he'd do so within an instant. Alas, he is powerless. The way you cry is proof. In his perfect Paradise, your eyes would dry and the unwarranted guilt you torture yourself with would disappear. He owes you at least that much... and still, so much more as well. This... This is nothing in comparison to the world that he would gladly offer.

"I am so sorry, Saeran..."The way he is just letting you keep going without a word otherwise; his embrace is making you hotter, but even more sick.

Tempting is the heat that still teases beneath another layer of cotton and stitch. All he wants is to feel you, to share in the inferno that is his own flesh and whisk away any frigid melancholy that has taken roost within your already tortured-soul. He hasn't found the chance to proffer what he can to you; the little sanity that holds him together and the unfiltered adoration has for you because you strain yourself every second presenting the hacker with an unconditional sort of devotion that no one has ever demonstrated to him and only him before. He's lost in you... So lost, but he's not looking for an escape. Your touch is Heaven itself. Your care a kind of salvation that brightens even the darkest room and brings hope for a future he would have never dared to dream.

Doesn't he know how disgusting you really are? Doesn't he see what kind of monster you are?

You are using him, because that is what you do.

"God, I'm sorry..." Right now, even as you pull him down to the mattress and shift your legs until they are straddled to either side of Saeran's hips; his shirt is tossed somewhere in the abject abyss of mussed comforter folds and hills of sided pillows forgotten while your tongue's tip dances in shapes along his freshly cleaned skin.

He is nothing more than a treat that you are a glutton for.

Your legs are like the finest silk wrapped around him so tight. The disciple is surrounded by you. You are everywhere he looks, in every nerve he feels the resounding tingles of fire and ice that you leave in succulent trails. He could be blinded, deafened, numbed from the crown down and still he'd remember the feel of you; like a generous phantom to remind him of the best things he's ever experienced. Of course, those things, they would be all be because of you. With all your worries, flaws, quirks and all. He could die right now and never forget you; in his next life and the next centuries upon centuries from now. But to leave this world in such a state would be to deny a person of oxygen. There is more of you he wants to experience; there is so much more time that he needs to spend with you and still, even that might not be enough.

Even as you try to ground yourself, to mentally kick some sense into yourself and stop; your teeth graze and nip at the underside of his jaw and the delicious sounds that growl faintly out of his exposed throat only serves to hunger you more. The salt of your tears on his soap-sweet flesh leads you further down his body as his own fingers drag trails of fire on your back, cloth bunching at your shoulder blades.

He can't take this... Every little pinch is placated with your soft lips that leave hot spots that cool as you drift. His body buzzes with your touch; the way you exhale tickles and wells, spreading through his limbs like a wildfire that blazes so viciously with every breath he takes. Held fast at the scalp as he is, the ache trickles along his spine in tingles knowing that you are the cause. He can feel you, so close... So very close that when he exhaled his chest and stomach would burn only to be smothered by the cold annoyance of fabric. He couldn't stand the space in-between... Saeran only wants to feel you, to be lost in this intoxicating madness. All directions lead to you; there is no up, down, left or right. There is only you and the speeding of his heart, the crackling of energy searching for more of yours, and the inferno that you both share; scalding each other and feeding more into the flames.

The wet locks of hair tangled between your digits limits you, but you don't let go. Instead, your swollen bottom lip runs back up along the pretty blooms of pink you've left in your wake as you pull him deeper into you by the fistfuls of mane within your grip; his nape is probably uncomfortably angled, but he hasn't refused any of this yet.

You would know.

You are hyper-aware of all the little grunts and moans that are escaping him in those gritty, airy exhales.

Sensual agony... Wet patches of chill still scorch with the memory of your lips. It's hard for the hacker to breathe, his every respiration a shallow sip of you. Thoughts won't form, words fail him... And yet here he is, gasping fiercely to drink you in; to get a lasting taste of you.

"Don't- Nhh..." Immediately you stop, fingers loosening yet left hanging like jagged claws as you pull away from the man beneath you. You bite back the whine so that it dies on your tongue, but before you can scramble yourself off of him and hide somewhere far, far away; he hugs you.

Just, hugs you.

Speech fails, the alarm in your body language is more than enough to shock some rationality to his synapses. This luscious heat that raises goosebumps along his flesh and the sting caused by your grasp caused only by your need of him is a hypnotic, toxic combination that he can't do without anymore. You are still trembling on top of him. He can feel through your breast the thunderous beat that seems to call his name. He wants nothing more but to answer.

Every labored inhale of his, you feel when his hot skin meets the surface of your own. Your nerves yearn, reaching out for that touch, resounding in chilled waves of electricity on exhale. You're frozen. Unable to move, unwilling to reciprocate the embrace out of a thin shred of will to respect his hesitance. The back of your throat and sinuses burn from the sobs just sitting and welling within you as your cheeks sting.

Flashes of blue and lit black waltz upon your form, adding a mystical, mythic sort of depth to the angles of your face and the blush that paints your cheeks like a siren drawing him in. You are a single spot of clarity in this blurry world, with your dampened cheeks and down-turned eyes, mouth slack in pant. Everything else is fog and shadow that only emphasizes the innocent guilt that even now torments you. The hacker's stomach twists as he swallows to bring back mobility of his tongue. He needs to complete his thoughts, say that something that has been bothering him from the beginning. You deserve more than you credit yourself with. You deserve the world. Everything... You deserve it all and more.

You don't want to look him in the eye. You don't want to know what emotion he's wearing so blatantly; that harshness you're pretty sure is swirling about in those sage pools so deep that you could drown in them... you couldn't bear to know.

"Don't be sorry." The hacker clears his voice, but it's still uneven as it puffs onto the shell of your ear inciting shivers to overload your senses in a silken thrill. Your shoulders sag, a lightness to them that you didn't realize had been so heavy before.

"...What?" Your articulation isn't much better; it's suffering from cracks and catching until it's just a gusty mouthed question. You aren't sure what he's talking about, but just the sound and feel of him is enough to ease the tension in you, if only just a bit.

"There's nothing for you to be sorry about." Pulling and quivering, your lips tug at the corners and yours is a losing fight with your own telling expressions. So you resign just to bury them deeper into the crook of his collar and jaw.

As invigorating as it is rending, the disciple shifts himself to accept you fully; he'll let you shelter yourself within his embrace. He'll be whatever you need him to be.

You can breathe now, but it's not enough just yet. Not with his scent all around you. Not how his physique makes your mentality melt or the taste of him still lingering tauntingly upon your tongue.

No.

It's not the time to hide. Not right now, not when your mind is hearing what it desperately wants to hear; he's not refusing you, not pushing you away. He's openly accepting everything you throw at him... It's... distressing. You knew it was going to be like this, feared it just as much as you pleaded for it wordlessly.

Is this what he wants? Is he okay with you pushing the barriers until their breaking point?

Still pressed as closely as you can be, the tips of your digits curl into the clumped line of fabric bunched at your chest and you lift it off with relative ease, parting only enough to allow the passing of cotton and reconnecting to that icy fire that is the graze of decadent friction of him against you.

When you reared away, his heart stumbled. Was he not shielding you properly? Was this not enough protection for the dark room that you both are in? But that wasn't the case... And he is glad. The smooth massage of you and him set him off like an explosive, the ticklish lines your nipples sketch with every movement shoot like radiant stars straight through his entire being. He wants to be closer, to cherish more of your affection and fervor. The hacker wants you to cherish it too, he wants your grounded here, with him to experience his sincerity so that you may realize... If only you'd realize...

The mellow prickling sting of nails drawing a path from your shoulder down the lengths of your arms sends shivers down your spine raising the hair at your nape before the soothing zip of prints on swirling prints whelm the centers and heels of your palms, bringing with it a kind of depth back to your breath.

When will you realize that he loves you? Will you ever?

"..." There are no words. Such an innocently intimate motion is not lost on you; in all of it's barely-there bliss, your fingertips just meet his and pass like a shy, tame game of cat and mouse.

How can he make you see? Would you ever believe him if he told you?

The bridge of your nose guides you past the cut of his jaw and up until it rests on the side of his. Your parted lips can feel the air puffing out of him in short bursts. You haven't looked him in the eye, haven't had the courage.

These sensations aren't what brought out his emotion. It's you... It's always been just you. But this is you as well. He'll embrace you as a whole, become an integral part of you. This is you; these ribbon-like caresses that bind themselves to his being, the breath that cycles between you two from his tingling lips to yours... It's all you and you are his drug. His addiction... ever-wanting more, craving your presence every hour, every minute.

Not yet.

Not yet.

Your bottom lip sweeps over his top in chaste docility before a sigh escapes you. Questions seemingly answered need to be validated. You need to see for yourself what the windows to his soul will tell you... If you are able to discern anything at all right now, that is.

Meek and pliable, the disciple can feel your selflessness through such a tender brush. It's so sweet that it hurts.

There is a numbness in your head, it's as if it's taken flight; your eyes feel so comfortable shut, abstaining from motion both too quick and too slow to make sense of. The darkness and chill are so well made up in kind by the pleasant scorch that engulfs your form in ways that are too hot for you to handle but beseech you in such a potent manner.

Burdensome is the pit that weighs in your stomach, but mollified are you by him, by Saeran, like a parasite feeding on wholesomeness that isn't your own. You don't feel as nauseous with his words an echo now lodged in repeat within your clouded mind. Just for a moment longer, you need to really feel that shame; it's not right just to forget it, not right just to move on and pretend like what you're doing is okay.

It's not.

Only you really know your own truth. There is no way you can describe it to anyone else, there is no way for them to possibly understand. He... wouldn't understand.

So, not yet. You let your lids hover at a slightly feeble, fluttering closed, willing the dampness from them as you take this time to just... be. To enjoy the tips at your own as they are, letting the twinge of baby-scrapes along your limbs and the angles and curves and volcanic velvet of the flesh that is so near lull you into your own acceptance.

Finely attune to the vast difference between yourself and him; how unclean, wanton and used you are in comparison to everything that you don't deserve.

Now that you're painfully aware of your place: open them. Open your eyes.

Your lashes no longer fan out as you fight to focus. First, it's the blurry curve of cupid's bow you see, then tip of his nose and the straight bridge that diverts your attention between the two hazy orbs each vying for prime attention in a lazy ease that makes it difficult not to switch between the two; comparing, contrasting, observing for change or a deepening that could flip your entire world upside down.

There isn't any revolutionary variation... But, what you do see almost... hurts more.

Because, this type of comfortable, questioning but compassionate sternness isn't what you should be witnessing.

Where is the nausea? The conflict? Where is the hate you were so sure of?

You take his lips just as soft and as forceful as you can and gaze back into his eyes, still disbelieving. You do it again, and again with only the same result to be had.

His stare is so pure; so caring, so focused, even lost in a blur of wonder and bliss.

You're tainted, staining his very existence.

You don't deserve to be the one that is this close to him. You know this... But the air he's breathed is hot against your face, his flesh melting your own and his eyes are screaming that he'd wear your colors well. And you want more of him, so much more; you could have him all and still never have enough.

You could devour him completely and still be famished.

Each of your kisses makes the disciple soar higher heights. That inquisitive look in your eyes and the tears that speckle your lashes like glittering crystals enchant him. What could you be seeing right now that would keep you coming back for more of him? Is he being good enough to you? He doesn't know, but the drive to do better steals his breath making him chase after your lips every time you set him free.

Your teeth catch his lower lip, pulling it in and sucking on it. Your tongue swipes off what little remains of honey and medicine upon them in little hungry flicks. You aren't aware of how hard your biting, or how harsh your pull is, but the hushed moans seem to say that he doesn't mind it at all.

God and the Savior have blessed him with your presence. Pinches of sharp pain you cause, you soothe like no balm ever could. He wants you to bite him more, heal him more with your every touch if that is what you so shall want. He's yours to play with like clay; to form in what ever shape you should desire, pass him through your flames to make his strong enough to withstand anything. With your hands upon him, your lips massaging his, your tongue... You can do no wrong with how right all of this feels.

You want his hands upon you, your own guiding their path along your sides and down in heart-fluttering trails until you leave them to explore on their own at the backs of your thighs.

The shape of you is daunting in the best of ways. With every curve he caresses, every solid muscle he can discern through the downy cush of your feverish flesh and the shapes he draws upon it with the faintest swipe and pass of his curious tips makes him dizzy and full of adrenaline; a madman searching for more to explore, an adventurer seeking to discover new and exotic delights.

It's still not enough.

Those fingertips grip and skim the cloth covering your hips and ass, and Lord, is the feel of him great, but he's not close enough and too close all the same.

You want his touch, yearn for it... But, at the same time, you don't want him to dirty himself with you. With a low-whining growl, you push him back down into the folds of comforter and sheets, the mattress giving bounce and squeak to your unintended force.

Saeran gasps aloud, taken from his journey between the untold hills and valleys of creased fabric and the delicious spread of your ample bottom. To know that he had been so close to all that you keep buried was like chancing upon immense treasure... only to be tossed back into a sea of fluff that is too cold to quench this flame-starved need for you and your brilliant blaze. Only barely is it satiated with the drops you grace upon him, so humid but cools within an instant leaving this craving more intense, howling through his veins and the inhuman speed of his heart.

His skin tastes so sweet as you find your way, backing down along his body of ivory and flush, leaving little blossoms and sheen from open-mouthed kisses in your wake; littering his chin and throat, chest and stomach so that they almost form a temporary tattoo of beautiful flowers that zig along his torso in a delicate vine guarding its most prized riches.

With every flower that blooms on his flesh by your doing, he melts. You kiss is the flame and he the mesmerized moth willing flying to meet its lethal, hypnotic allure. How can something so small feel as big and overwhelming as this? It moves like a slow trickle, like the sun upon skin weathered by the winter breeze. How did he ever survive before now; how did he last so long before he found you?

The way he rises to meet each of your marks, the ascent and fall of his chest from his racing breath... the beat within his ribs that makes each descent seem to shudder make his flavor all the more saccharine. You can't stop yourself from tracing lines above the elastic of his waistband or how your nails dig little crescents at the dip of his hips all the while you watch him, watching you in a half-lidded daze surrounded by rose tint and the sheen of a man growing warmer and warmer by the second.

It makes your head swim, seeing him like this; on the thin edge of the calm control that you've become so used to. This is a novelty... He is, here, like this. The way he squirms beneath you now as his palm lay curled in a sort of pulsing grip, so lost in the minuscule sensations that you are giving him.

You want to give him more... so much more.

You want that control to vanish... to disappear completely.

You want him to feel nothing but the superb. You want to give him a slice of Nirvana.

You want to give him all that you can without staining the purity of his soul. You are doing this to him, he is innocent. You want to keep it that way, to an extent. But most of all...

You just want more.

Stings and twittering nerves surf the flooding waves of heat that crash into every end, every crevice that is him. Saeran has never been more aware of every follicle that now stands in drawn, sensitive alert. Every gust is like shocks of electricity, every curious lick like a tidal wave cleansing all that once was into a better 'what will be.' It's beyond his control... far beyond anything imagination could ever create. It's taking everything just to hang on... It's taking even more not to let go; to drown in a sensation such as this is too good for a man that isn't good enough for you. But, if it's what you should wish... He'd give up control... he'd give up anything for you. He can be better than this. He'll do anything for you.

Your hold loosens just enough to scrape fine, fading lines onto his creamy skin as you nip at the protrusion of his hip bone; pausing only briefly when you find your tips lifting the band of his boxers, brows pinching in silent question to the disciple above. It's quick, but the jerk of his chin and the slight lift of his butt from the mattress below is all you need to brace yourself with a gulp and as deep a shallow breath as you can manage.

Whispering along his body is your want that throws his senses into a fray. The fluttering deep in his core, the shallow suffocation his chest naturally adopts. He'll live through this open subjection for you with pride just as he'd die for you without qualm, even without salvation... Your caress is enough to save a thousand souls.

Slow goes your pull, revealing more of the reddish trail that leads from his navel and farther, into a maintained fluff at the very base of his manhood.

You stop for another moment, your digits losing a little strength.

If you go any further, it will be too late to turn back.

Everything will change; your relationship, interactions, expectations... everything.

Are you ready to stake losing everything? Could you handle that?

Your pause gives tell to the tremor of your hold. You are losing yourself to your mind, losing ground, losing your belief to the battle of thought and trust in the hacker. How can he prove himself to you? What would it take to ease your worries; to let you know that all he is shall be yours. Saeran gulps in a triple-stuttering breath before taking a leap of faith; his vulnerability is yours to be had... His dignity yours to hold, to dash or bend at your will. This freedom you offer wordlessly is exhilarating as much as it is daunting. Will you be pleased with him? He has no way of knowing... But his loyalty to you is unconditional, he'll strive to travel any distance to make you see.

Before you can think to answer your own questions, a hand dips from its perch on your shoulder, looping a thumb into the elastic you've lost your drive to dominate, pulling it down. It's exciting, terrifying... You want to look... want to run away; you want to continue... want to stop... But instead, you're frozen, eyes widened, stuck staring at the fiery wisps of hair that lead down... there.

Would he hate you if you changed in this way? You know yourself... If you have but a taste, you'll only crave more...

Would he get tired of you?

So many have already... Why would he an exception?

"I'm not like them..." You remember those words he spoke so long ago, now, that it almost seems like a passing dream. Was he right, though?

Trust him.

But... It's so hard when there is so much on the line. You don't want him to throw you away like they did... But you want this, he looks like he does too... Should you?

"Are you sure you want me like... this?" You press your swollen lips to the now bare flesh nearest you and exhale. "I don't want to pressure you into anything. I can deal... I'm sure I can, if you change your mind." Your eyes are trained solely on the shadow at the dip of his pelvis, barely behaving; tip-toeing on the remaining shreds of your morality that's stitched together shoddily with overbearing guilt.

Your hesitation was a moment hung with dread, but this subdued fear of yourself is another sort altogether. He is baring his all to you, can't you see that you are someone worth more than your own self doubt? If only he were better with words. If only he could allow you into his head so that you could see yourself the way that he sees you. Saeran knows that anything he is to utter won't be enough, but he has to try. He has to improve somehow...

"It's kind of weird talking to you while, uh, I'm kind of... yeah..." A light chuckle makes the shadow shift in cute spasm, your heart flutters at the thick yet airy sound above you. "Honestly... If it's you, I'm down for whatever.

My body is yours just as much as it's mine. You can have whatever, do whatever you want with me.

...I'm yours, remember?"

It's not- HE'S not though... He's not a possession; not a thing to be had... Especially not by someone like you.

You like the sound of it, though. Something about it seems so raw and sincere... You press another kiss next to the first on an appreciative, understanding nod. Another and then another in a row, scooting in inches closer to the tuft at the edge of your sight. Stomach in knots, flickering between tickle and ache, you can feel the soft wisps brushing along the plump of your cheek.

Lord, every drop of your lips makes his spine sing in volts, every cool puff from your nose entices the flood of molten heat to over come it. Has he been breathing at all? He hasn't noticed anything but you. The taste of you still at his lips, the ghost of your arms around him holding him tight... This fire you've ignited and the fuel you provide that keeps it alive... He has to bite back the expletives that want to come pouring out. He can't dirty something as heavenly as this with the filth of his tone. So hard is it to keep it in... He has to have strength... God, please grace him with strength...

You lap at the sweet skin within the short procession to his exposed organs; tasting all of the trust, the susceptibility, the utter control he's offering up to you that shrouds him from his own troubled past. You aren't worthy of any of this... but... It's like a drug, an addictive opiate that makes your heart race to the point of stopping and the world to bend and dim around you until there is nothing but you and him framed within the soft sheets and mattress that melds with your bodies in this bubble of reality that belongs to only you two.

Short, shuddering breaths fill your ears like choir-song as next your lips bury in a blaze of red, curling strands that tickle your nose and chin. There's a warmth that presses against your jaw urging a surge of electricity to crackle along your flesh like a flood of static shock infiltrating each nerve in the most violent and pleasant way. You're so close to connecting with Saeran, so aware... something that you could have only corrupted within fantasy before. It's a thing of dreams... of nightmares, even; you nuzzle into the velvet heat, running your jowl along his length in a feather-light drag. Your nails dance in rakes along the expanse of abdomen and thigh within your reach, kneading and ravishing the mini-quakes in your path.

Doing this can pull you closer together. It can also tear you both apart.

The way you affectionately contemplate him at his most vulnerable... Taking time to know even the most secret parts, is a wonder to his being... Its a tickle that resounds in an unheard of fervor that winds so deeply, so deeply into his core; coiling so tightly, winding up for something so unknown that its terrifying to think on anything else aside from the thrill of your nearness, the feel of your adoration. He is nothing but this puddle that you've made of him and he loves every moment.

Your heart is hammering bruises within your ribs' cage, fiery passion and want and icy dread battling within your veins as you tilt your head enough to loosely drag your lips along the base of his manhood.

Something isn't right, though. You've felt it right along with your own excitement the moment you touched this part of him.

That ice is beginning to win this war with a surprise attack of millions of thoughts racing throughout your brain.

Is he nervous?

Are you... not his type?

Does he not find you attractive enough?

Does he really not want this?

Is the reason for all those pretty sounds that escape him in gasp and rapid respiration because he's... scared?

Is... he afraid of you?

Why is he letting you do this, then? Why did you have to trust that he'd say something if he wanted you to stop?!

You want to trust what he's said was true... You don't want to feel this doubt toward him. It feels so wrong... invasive... if he's not feeling good.

"Saeran...?" You wet your lips so close to him that your tongue catches and grazes against his lifeless shaft, your words puffing against him in hot bursts that cause his hair to sway. "... Is this okay?

Do you want me to stop...?"

For some reason, you can't force the words you really want to say out... You can't make them real. 'You don't want me, do you?' 'You aren't attracted to me, are you?' 'I'm forcing myself on you... I knew it...'

These words... They live deep within your mind, making themselves known only to you in thunderous waves within the silence of a single breath.

The way you speak against him gives him goosebumps, that fluttering in his stomach jumbles the utterance you've had. He has to take a second to grasp what was said... It finally clicks, and peeking down, he sees the reason why. Of course he'd fail you with even the simplest of requests... He feels everything, from the breaths you take to the promising hot silk of your mouth... Why isn't his body responding to you as it should? Why?! You are more than enough... You are greater than any fantasy... Why? ...Why? Lord knows he doesn't want you to stop... If he did, what would you think of yourself? What do you think of him, now...? How can he face you? No... NO... You wanted him. You want what is rightfully yours... You should be able to have what you desire. His want is the same as yours, so pressing is it that it's hard to breathe, to think... Take anything you want.

"No... Don't stop, lamb...

Please, don't stop..." He grunts and rasps, gulping as if he's barely holding on to himself... But the words sound so sincere...

It's... Confusing. The things he's saying contrast so obviously with the lack of activity down here.

You're torn.

You want to give him what he wants... You want to give him everything... But what is it that he really wants? You know what he is saying, but what is he thinking?

'Trust him.'

'Of course he doesn't want you.'

'You're a slut that's forcing your way on him.'

'You're not attractive enough to please him.'

'He told you he'd tell you to stop if he doesn't want it.'

'Trust him.'

Stop... please...

Stop thinking!

Maybe... he just needs a little help. Not everyone is ready by the time they get their pants off... Maybe, he's like that.

Maybe...

"Hmm..." Slick and warm, the flattened curve of your tongue runs down the side of his flaccid shaft, curling around the bottom of his tip to pulse in a wave that pulls his limp member into your pursed lips, surrounding him.

That coiling pressure is getting stronger, deeper. This kind of warmth is so hot, so slick, so tight yet soft it nearly brings tears to his eyes. So much... It's all so much, but he wants more, needs more. His lamb... These electrifying sensations that you are blessing his body with... Why? He doesn't deserve such heavenly absolution... So ongoing are the waves, the texture of you that you share... The disciple's face burns, everything below his chest is so tense, but the soreness it's causing makes each move you make so intense that barely can he control his own physique.

"...Hahh..." Peering up, you see his mouth hanging open, the hackers eyes a rolled half-shut as his hips jerk into a small thrust towards you.

Circling the delicate ridge, you suck, drawing him further into your mouth and feeling him stretch along your taste buds. You can feel that soft head of his tickling at the back of your throat.

Though you are absolutely perplexed by everything happening so far, the taste of him gliding down your through and the cute, growling mewls he makes as he squirms to catch his breath entices you; the way his fists are tangled in the sheets so tight that his knuckles are turning white makes you salivate and suckle faster, wagging your tongue like rolling hills even as you swirl it around his shaft and drag it back up from the bottom. Again you lower and again his strangled, breathy whines entice.

Not much has changed, though. Still, he's not fully hard even if he's got a little more swell filling your mouth, making you pull back enough so that you wouldn't choke.

But what does all of this mean?

God, shut the FUCK up! Now's not the time, brain.

But... now that his eyes are clinched shut, you can't help but to wonder-

No.

Don't think, just feel... Give... Do your best to make him feel like a king so that he won't suffer through your filth... Because, that's what you are right? ... This... proves it...

Right?

You don't blame him...

Never. You know your place.

Even if it isn't you he wants... He wants to experience the sensations and you want to provide him with that, at least.

...And, that's okay.

It's okay.

It is.

He is helpless, at your mercy. Everything could be falling to pieces around him and he wouldn't care in the slightest. He can't. He already has you here with him, feels you upon him, embracing him within such intimacy... You are all that matters. He can't think past thoughts of you. He can't see past the images of you emblazoned onto the backs of his lids. Nothing in his life has ever stolen so much attentiveness from him, and yet, surrendering his all to you is the most comforting vulnerability. You are a wonder, if not a divine being trapped upon the Earth. And that you have chosen him...

Your left hand roams, leaving pink ribbons decorating his flesh in its path and he rises to meet your lips, pushing his way further in as you wrap your fingers around his base, squeezing him just tight enough to engorge him a little more, easing the bob and twist of your head into semi-normalcy.

You are doing this for him. You are doing this for yourself.

Every second feels like a fleeting eternity. The abuse within his breast keeps speeding as you fly him to new heights, each moment more severe than the last. It's as if you are filling him with your care, each touch, each kiss, every swallow and taste. The fuzz along his limbs stand on end; every breeze he experiences like it is the first... With you...

You are greedy; A glutton for the way he moves and the twitch of his hips. You can't get enough of the urgent sounds that pass through those bitten red lips or the shuttering inhales that lift him closer to you. The flush of his ivory skin that washes from his head down his arms and chest make this an even more delicious treat.

...And knowing that he's baring all this to you in such a way -someone as unattractive and tainted as you- is enough to make your head float, so light that even oblivion seems solid and grounded.

You want to see more... feel more of him.

You want to see him lose it all and gain serenity.

Even if it is at your own disgusting hand.

Still, he hasn't become fully erect... At this rate, he may never tip that peak into ecstasy as you'd like. Though your muscles clench when he reaches your throat and you suck in triple your way down and back up, tickling and encompassing his head in swipes that make your mouth water at the flavor of clean vanilla and salt... Those sweet calls echo in the room, muffled now by the back of his hand and the teeth that grit onto it with each slurping pass.

It still isn't enough.

Not for you, not for him.

More.

Give him more.

Take more.

You lift upon your knees, finding a strange balance in your selfish desires enough to keep yourself from falling. Nudging his leg over with your palm, you spread him, opening him up for more of your touch and letting him fall out of your mouth with a faint audible pop.

Lower you go, guiding your free hand to hold him thumb down, sliding him through a snug pump as your fat tongue dips onto his sensitive sack hidden previously by his creamy, lithe thighs. You feel his reaction almost immediately, satisfying the ravenous beast within you. It shrink up, pulling closer to his body in compact, keen to your dirty deeds that leave the bump-laden surface of his testicles sopping with traces of you.

"Shttssssssss-!" You marvel at how the hacker hisses in the most beautiful ways; squirming beneath your touch. Letting go only to grip and tug up on his shaft again, you roll the knuckle of your thumb along his frenulum, twisting at the ridge beneath his head. You quicken your pace, letting the arch in his back grow deeper before slowing into leisurely, lackadaisical hauls. Your slick, flat muscle coats his delicate sack to completion; pulling one ball in then the other in tandem nursing each into a weak yet plush open mouth. You imbibe yourself with him... his little tendencies, letting him take a much-needed breath when your jerk becomes lazed; you smile into him when he forgets to exhale at the tip of his arch's peak.

Still, none of this is quite enough.

You want to bring him to the edge and keep him there. You want his mind to blank and his body to run on animalistic instinct. You want to keep him there, drowning in blissful frustration until the very last moment, and you want to stretch that moment out for as long as you can. You don't want him to see you; keep him blinded by the pleasure you're providing but your visage is to remain unseen... you don't want to distract.

This... It just isn't enough.

White comes in flashing shocks that assaults his sight. The room is spinning, but he couldn't stand it if it were to stop. Every inch of him is on fire, every centimeter tortured with frost. Nothing is real, it can't be... But all is too good to be a figment of fantasy. Your scent is mingled with his own, he can't inhale, can't exhale enough. You fill him, you wind him. The coil within him is creaking, ready to spring. And, you are the cause, the mechanic. Your hands are your tools, your maw a shining star. The hacker is shivering harshly as he sweats in sheets from the sweltering heat... How can feet be so cold and hot at the same time? How can toes curl so hard they crack and still keep going? Magic... You are a magician and this spell that has been cast is one never to be forgotten... He'd never forget you... Never. You're too precious to him... His soul is yours just like his mind and body.

You find yourself rising, mouth slackened and dragging, you lip flipping with the catch of his flesh, wet from your work, up the path that your right palm has been entertaining. Taking in that defenseless tip of his that looks like it's begging for your warmth. Gladly, you swirl it once, twice in shallow bobs to satisfy your own hunger before you once again let his manhood slide from your lips. It is only a little more swollen than before with thanks to the grip at his base and the pure stimuli you're providing, but you'll take this small accomplishment with a bit of pride.

Even still... You're disappointed.

Not at him. God no, not at Saeran. You are disappointed with yourself. You could do better... Should be doing better for him.

That disappointment drives you forward. You know what you're doing, you've done this kind of thing countless times before. It's in your filthy nature... You should at least make this enjoyable for him. Inserting your middle and ring fingers into your mouth, you let your spit slide down your digits in a thick coat.

What are you to him if you can't please him?

A shell... Hollow, cold, waiting for someone else to fill in your blanks with only a temporary personality to adopt.

You aren't even a real person if the one thing you vaunted yourself as knowledgeable in is something useless to the one that matters right now. The humiliation of all that is right now shoots throbs of neglected need to your sex as you use your own knees to further scoot his. Giving a few more swollen licks to the head that is swaying in the hold at your lips, you place your fingers gently at the little puckered hole, hidden away beneath the rest of him.

"Haa~!" He almost jumps at the foreign feeling as you slide the wetness around the tiny creases and the entrance itself, obviously unexpected. His face, so red and shining with a gleam of perspiration, shoots up to look at you from from its cocked-back lay. You feel bad for having gotten a little caught up in the moment, but also so very privileged to have been here to witness that adorable squeal.

Massaging as best and as gentle as you can, your prints run along the lines and creases of him, memorizing every bit. You want to know Saeran inside and out, to let the thoughts of him keep you warm at night when he inevitably decides to leave you to the world alone; when all his purposes are seen to an end and you are all that is left between he and the sleep that will guide him to the Heavenly gates... You want more to hold onto than just a dream.

"Can I...?" Putting forth a little pressure to signify your intent, you speak in thick strength, willing your voice not to break. The end of your digit is swallowed up by clenching muscle and soft warmth that is uniquely Saeran. "... I want you to feel better than just this." Once more, you pull him into your mouth, eager to gulp the disciple down as your eyes stay focused on his hazy, half-lidded eyes. They see you, right now... It's probably not okay for the... problem... but it makes you feel better... valid, even.

"Wh-" Sucking in a quick breath, Sae's eyebrows pinching as his lids flutter, fully absorbed in the very slight thrust of your finger and the slow, drawling bob of your busy mouth. "What ever you-" He swallows hard, caught somewhere between losing his voice and not having one at all, his words are so faint. "-want... haa..."

That's it. That is all you need to put all you have into the intricacies of your finger and the designs you are drawing on him with your tongue. With every short pump of your digit, you go a little further; at every swallow when he meets the pack of your throat the hacker relaxes a bit more, inviting you in.

He's sure now, that you are filling him to full. You are within him and he within you. Every time you stroke the walls inside of him that coil pulls tighter. It's chipping, he's breaking.

Whining growls and heavy breath surround you. The taste of salt from the sweat upon his flesh is savory to your senses as his clean scent and warm musk make you so frantic that you have to fight to hold back for sake of his comfort.

Knowing that he's still not hard yet frustrates and saddens you to no end, but also knowing that you are so close to him, so intimate with Saeran in this moment of desperate need is indescribable.

Though your eyes burn and your jaw aches, you won't let this go unfinished. You want to see him slip into ecstasy. He's letting you destroy a barrier, you need to make his sacrifice at least somewhat worth the trouble you've caused.

His inner walls are like silk against your prints as you curve your finger, exploring him for that treasure trove of knotted nerves, bundled up and awaiting your manipulation. Drool bunches around your pursed lips and drops down in haphazard lines, pooling at the tight circle you've created at the root with your thumb and index. It glistens and gathers, spilling over and dripping along the creases in his thighs when it parts along the cooling, drawn up surface of the disciple's testicles.

Your sloppiness is both a blessing and a curse.

The slurping and smacking of your maw is sickening to your own ears; It drowns out the lovely melody of grunts and throaty whines the man above you is making in abandon. Slick and welcome, the unintentional intrusion is providing adequate lubrication to the movement of your finger, easing into his tight opening. The panting that you can hear keeps rhythm with his pelvis, rocking into the heat of your lips that are fighting to stay wrapped around him as he pushes himself further onto your digit.

It's a beautiful sight and you would marvel at this... you would treasure this moment a tad more if you weren't so busy feeling the parts of him that you never thought you would. The sensation of his muscles gripping you and pulling you deeper are erotic, the taste of him enough to rocket your mentality straight into uncertain, unfathomable space. You falter, trying to replace the air in your lungs. A slight hiccup in your suction and stroke has the ring pulsing at your knuckle widen more, seemingly to search for more sensation from that which was lost. You bask in this opportunity, inching in the next tip while smoothly pumping in slow, fluid pushes and pulls. It takes so much just to school your own breath while you watch the disciple's chest rise and fall in a gleaming blaze that captivates you to entirety.

How can one person look so gorgeous when they've let go of everything but carnality? His hair is sticking up every which way, some stuck to his forehead and damp while his cheeks burn bright enough to tint him scarlet in this dark room. He bites and pulls at his bottom lip with that straight row of teeth that give you palpitations when he smiles openly on empty, monosyllabic words as he lets go, leaving it irritated and plump. Those dark, hazy sage eyes only barely peek through fiery lashes between harsh clench while a single bead of sweat falls from his chin, gliding along his neck and Adam's apple making you wish that you were close enough to lick it away. How does the hacker look this good, while laid out so bare; vulnerable and exposed?

Your tongue darts out on instinct, reminding you of where you are and exactly what you are doing. Instead of cleaning the perspiration from his neck, you lap Saeran from base to tip with the fat, flat of your tongue. The free fingers tangled in the tuft at his base stretch and curl, clawing gently at the sensitive skin as deeper you push into his body that can't seem to calm enough to stay still.

That's okay.

As long as he isn't trying to get away, this is okay.

You find it on a hooked withdrawal; this fun little game of hide-and-seek finally won with a lucky swipe and seized, strangled moan from the alluring mess of a man above you. You let your finger stay seated, sunk into his entrance to the point where there is no more of your digits to give and you rub, manipulating the ends and knuckles in a wave that both gives and takes away simultaneously.

You want to watch him. The tightening of those deliciously, delicately defined abs and the painful arching curl of his toes when he draws his knees up to open for you more. The twitching of the muscles in his thighs and the clench of his fists as he nearly tears the sheets with his intent is enough to make you rub your own together in order to join him in pure sensation.

You want to, and you do. You are selfish, greedy...

Especially when it comes to him.

The swirl of your tongue does nothing to detract from the urgent grit and mewls pushing past the bitten lip, and now that you've gained feeling back in your cheeks, the few wet slurps now only intensify your own joy, flowing like an erotic, forbidden song meant for your ears only.

He doesn't need to touch you to please you, just this sight and these sounds are enough to carry you through.

The louder his cries get, the quicker your fingers move, creating a cyclone of pressure that is set on abusing his prostate and the hungrier you get, running your open mouth along the still swelling underside of his half-alive member, wrapping him up in your heat for a deep swallow before sucking up and licking him down again.

You are careful to keep busy, quiet... You don't want to ruin this by hearing your voice and bringing him back to this reality with you.

Whatever sights he is seeing behind those lids, you hope that they endure and bring him home into complete bliss; you only wish that he'd stay lost within the illusion playing in his mind, making him become more solid and lengthy upon your buds.

His chest shudders in short half-gasps that teeter on the brink of silence. The muscles along his stomach twitch into something beyond flex as that lovely, red-tinted mouth of his hangs open in a silent scream. Upon a final swipe of your tongue that puckered ring of muscles begins to pull you in and push you out as the shaft in your mouth throbs, once, twice, three times filling your throat with his essence.

Everything so bright and dark all at once. He is floating, sinking... Every cell within his body is alive and running rampant, let loose by the burst spring that was so carefully tended by you. Sae doesn't need to breathe, but he is heaving. He is beyond relaxed, yet his limbs remain frigid. He's so full with your care, your touch that he's spilling over. Everything that he is is centered, pooled within the very core of his being. It is a heartbeat, a song orchestrated by the nonsense words you speak when asleep in bed; it is the curves and plains of your body when he holds you close... It is all you all overwhelming to the point that he wants nothing more than to search for more of you. Because you are his bliss. You are the peace within his shattered mind.

You swallow him down, nursing at him in gentle, adoring sucks to help him ride out his release. You stop only when the spasms and jerks of over-sensitivity begin to wrack his thighs and belly. Taking great care, you pull out of the hacker when his body has fully relaxed in the heavy afterglow of orgasm. Your nasty mind takes great pride in knowing that a part of him is now a part of you in some way or another... That you were able to help him achieve this kind of serenity.

Even if you weren't the person he thought of while riding that high.

Even if you aren't what attracted him in the first place.

You won't mention it... You won't. Wiping off your slathered mouth and your fingers upon the side of your leg, you sidle up next to the drained, exhausted looking disciple and lay your head on his heaving chest.

"Thank you..." Nuzzling into the sweat-damp warmth, you can hear the speed of Saeran's heart slowing back into a normal, steady beat. It makes you sad knowing that you are the only one that feels such a strong attraction to him, that you are the only one enamored by both his mind and body.

You can't admit that you love him, though... That has never ended well as you don't love yourself enough to do so... You don't know the true meaning of the word because you are not a whole being... But, it looks like you'll never get to grow into yourself and take that chance, either.

As satisfied as you are that you've made him experience such a flood of sensation... You feel empty and filthy.

Your skin crawls and all you want now is to scratch it all off.

This is something precious you just stole from him. He may have agreed, but his body was against you. "...I'm sorry." It slipped out! Oh god, it slipped out! Not again, fuck's sake, get a damn grip!

"...Why?" Sluggishly he turns over, jostling you from your perch on his chest to the pillow of his spread arm as he presses a speaking kiss to the top of your head. As nice and calming it is, it only quells your nerves for the short time the gesture endures. "The thanking and the apologies... That stuff... All of it... Why?" He wants nothing but to return the favor to you, to deliver you a pleasure only now known to him. Every fiber of his being is calling to sooth you, to snatch away your insecurities and slather you with praise and his devotion. But, you're pulling away... Why are you pulling away? ...Did he do something wrong...?

"Don't worry about it and just get some sleep, 'kay?" The chuckle you force through your nostrils and the tight smile on your face feels so wrong to you, but what else can you do? You've already had a meltdown or two today, you certainly don't need to drag the disciple down into another one. Something cold begins to press and drip along your back...

The medicine... It becomes crystal clear when finally, sensibility strikes a chord.

Fuuuuuck...

Shit. Well, you've got something to occupy yourself with at least. "I'm... gonna go wash up

and bring a towel.

Heh.

Unfortunately,... the wet spot has grown."

"There're a lot of wet spots now... probably...

Forget it.

Cuddle. Sleep. It's late." He clears his throat and scratches at his cheek awkwardly... Saeran desperately wants to talk. He wants to be near you, to hear your voice and reassure you... He wants to ask what is wrong, but... as afraid as he is to learn his faults, he's more afraid you won't say anything at all. So for now, all he can do is coax you into a calming lull; hold you the way you like to be held while leaving the evidence of his love in kisses upon your scalp.

You know this game and you aren't going to get caught in it. Rolling away, you grab the unstopped bottle as it splashes at you in response. Narrowly, you miss the trap you mentally have dubbed 'the slumber cage' made up of the disciple's surprisingly strong spooning grip. He taps around the empty space on the mattress, still warm from your lay, and pouts like a child that just lost his favorite stuffed animal. "Come back..." His eyes won't stay completely open, all he can do is put forth his pitiful plea.

If only that were the case.

"I'll be back in a few... keep the covers toasty for me~!" Absently, you collect your lost clothes, putting them back on as you go, juggling the water-bottle in an odd shuffle between your chin and each hand as they free up.

A moment's thought has you considering re-locking the door before you step out, because the half-awake man is still completely nude, spare the one leg still stuffed in a hole in his boxers, but... He's covered in blankets now for the most part and it shouldn't take you too long...

Well, you don't think, at least.

It would be a shame to try and wake him back up to unlock the door. He shouldn't have to deal with the hassle of rousing from a coma.

So,... yeah... unlocked it shall remain.

The hinges creak a bit when you untwist the lock and pull the barrier ajar, tip-toeing around the barely-wide-enough crack and once again when you pull it shut.

...Well, that's it, huh?

It's weird... You feel elated and empty; zombie butterflies left to flutter in your stomach crumble and fall away to ash leaving a heavy weight at your core. You hurt... you're ashamed, you feel disgusting, you feel touched and you feel disregarded... But right now, what you want to feel...

What you really want to feel...is numb.

Your ducts burn, but tears don't fall.

Not yet, anyway... You're too close to the room.

You need to scrub away the grime... Scrub until it hurts. Let the pain out and feel all at once just so that it's easier for you to feel nothing at all.


	73. Chapter 73

Here you are again, in this same space you were only moments before...

Water gurgles from the press on the coarse rag in your hand as you drag it up and down the curve of your shoulders and chest. Sluicing down your body in haphazard sheets and foamy paths, it splashes back into the basin in a mute tinkling, leaving your flesh an angry, blazing red with every fresh dip of cloth into the full tub.

It's scalding. Just stepping into the tub without knowing, one could be paralyzed with a kind of pain that seizes the limb and leaves it locked in silent scream as they lift it out with a quickness. But, that's not you, is it?

Not right now.

Not this time.

This is what you were looking for... What you wanted.

You sit here stiff and straight, your downward, un-focused gaze taking in the swirling of your bodily debris that floats atop fat little waves that change with your movements; scrubbing each inch of yourself in an absently hypnotic trance. Few bubbles trail the lapping surface giving peeks of abdominal flesh that look nearly maroon with bruise. It's not. You know it's not. But even if it were so, you aren't worried.

You need this.

This heat... This cleansing scald is everything necessary and still not enough. The way it's just below boiling won't disinfect you, the soap can't reach deep enough to wash away the sludge that has hollowed out its home in the center of your soul. But... You can try. You can scour harder, you can let your skin be transfixed within this molten liquid. You can breathe in the scents that have all but left you as the rising steam continues to singe the lining of your nose... You can taste... nothing- you've already scraped at that too with bristles that have gone all but flat with your adept attentions along your teeth, gums and now-torn cheeks...

Strings and sheets of tattered dermis encircle the swelling of chewed meat of your inner jaw and lip, hidden discreetly within your mouth. It doesn't hurt anymore though, despite the puff and scarlet that line the whites of your maw, the blood that has been spit and still yet leaks... Nothing does.

And that is exactly the result you wanted.

You've overloaded your senses with every sensation you could, keeping pitiful sobs and tears at bay so that they wouldn't break surface into the echoing bathroom atmosphere, their thick sting doesn't affect you any more. Even though your vision grows more cloudy and your cheeks more wet since the raw rubbing of rag against them.

You remembered. Of course, you would.

To make any noise now would be to alert the sleeping disciple of the anguish that plagues you. Doing that, after he allowed himself loss of dignity and humiliation at your hand... He's already done so much... You don't want his empty placations. Even if you enjoyed playing his body like a fine instrument... Even if he did finally finish...

If he didn't really want it, what you've done is nothing more than rape.

You sat there knowing full-well that you were emotionally manipulating the disciple into giving in to your needs. Guilt... Empathetic deception... Pressuring and pushing forward...

How are you any different than the monster that preyed on him when he was younger? How are you any different from his mother... or your own uncle, for that matter?

Slowly, you lean; the polished ceramic lip gives your upper back the strangest shock of cold as you let yourself fall, sinking deeper into the steaming pool of water. Arms floating in half, the top of your head still remains uncovered as the hot liquid rushes your ears, taking your hearing from you in the form of murk and the muffled murmur of your own heartbeat.

Thummm thump.

Thummm thump.

You had every single moment at your disposal. You could have said something... You could have just stopped. And yet...

Thummm thump.

Thummm thump.

You didn't. You didn't do or say anything that could have absolved you of your crimes. You know better than that. You're more experienced than that.

Thummm thump.

Thummm thump.

Hah... Your 'feelings' for the hacker... your care...?

Thummm thump.

They aren't real.

Thummm thump.

You know damn well they aren't... You aren't capable of such sincerity.

Thummmthump.

Thummmthump.

All you know is what you want, what you are willing to take to satiate your own desires. Your selfishness doesn't allow it. No matter how many masks you wear; the fake smiles and kind words are always only surface-deep. You're always searching for something to fill that cavernous gap, that monstrous emptiness that lies deep within. He is that thing, to you. Nothing more...

Thummmthump.

You know it's true. You know you... Why does pointing out this simple realization ache as much as it does...?

Thummmthump.

Still, the image of him writhing under your touch, tangled in sheets and shining with sweat is imprinted in the backs of your lids. The blistering heat from this bath and the sting of skin rubbed raw can't erase it. Your body is twittering with insignificant agonies, numbed to them... But your mind, your heart... Why do they still hurt? Why do you feel sick and still want more; to feel more of him, see more of that sight...?

Thummmthump.

Is it because you know he'd allow you more?

Thummmthump.

Of course, it is.

Thummmthump.

Pushing against the tub's bottom, you raise back above the water letting the humid oxygen flood your deprived lungs.

Thummmthump.

Thummmthump.

How can you face him, knowing that he's sacrificed so much for you? His body, his bed, his time... The entirety of your life here has been full of Saeran; he's given you company, comfort, bouts of happiness you can't even describe... To treat him any differently would be like spitting in his face. But, not to acknowledge would be an even greater disgrace.

So what should you do?

Keep your damn hands to yourself, for starters... That's always a good fucking start.

You sigh, opening your eyes to the foggy ceiling lights, cutting that image from your sight.

But is that something that you'll be capable of preventing? You know yourself, too well... You feel horrible now, but in the moment...

No, don't think.

Don't feel.

Clean up, get out, go to sleep.

Still, you don't move. Not yet. Not with how aware you are to the warmth waiting for you in that bed or the arms so willing to hold you close and tight. You don't deserve those things. You don't deserve that kind of comfort.

You don't deserve him. You are a threat, a danger... a disgusting disease.

You need more soap, you need more time to scrub away the dirt... Maybe then? Maybe...

Stop kidding yourself.

Beyond the hall; everything is so heavy... So cold.

Even though the plush blankets surround the disciple and the monitors leak warmth into the air around him, still he feels that chill. One not completely attributed to his lack of clothes, nor the creeping dampness slowly seeping its way up and through the threaded fibers of the sheets.

No.

It's all in the way his lazy arms are wrapping around nothing but air. This calming peace his muscles feel in their static stance and the way he can't lift his lids, and still, you aren't here to share in this lull with him.

You escaped; ran away from him and slipped straight from his grasp.

Saeran is so tired, so sluggish and yet, sleep won't find him. Not when his ears are perked toward that door across the hall; its faint glow breaking through the lonely calignosity of his shut lids as what he's sure is the shuffles of pooled water slosh against basin and trickle back. These echoes remind him of where you are, of where you aren't.

And why...

How could he have done that to you? Why... at a moment so intimate, did he fail you so harshly?

You must be thinking so many things right now... How disappointed you are in him... How disappointed you must be with yourself... He'd give anything to be in there with you. To tell you emphatically that it isn't your fault...

It's his... But even that wouldn't be enough.

He knows it, you probably do too...

How can he pacify your mind when he can't even do so with his own? He has no fucking clue what happened, he doesn't know why... It's not like he's ever had a chance to explore himself like that, all he knows is what he's seen in books, what he's read online in between his studies on computer languages and code... He's never thought about sexuality or relations, he's always been too busy with other things... Determined to reach and surpass his goals, to fulfill his purpose...

But he does know enough to realize that what happened is not normal.

It's not fair...

God, it's not fair to you... You gave him so much, let him experience so much good...

Haven't you been through enough, already?!

How... Just how in the fuck can he make this right? What words does a person use to describe something like this?

A particularly harsh exhale hits his pillowcase and bounces back upon his face; the drying mess of his bangs flutter in tickles at his brow as his face burns. The disciple buries it deeper into the down of the cushion, hiding it from himself and no one. This is an embarrassment.

Just thinking about bringing it up to you make his throat clench and his stomach churn.

Can't he just... Show you..? Let you know in other ways that you aren't the... problem... That he is. How can he convince you that you are all he wants, that of all of Magenta's paradise, you and his savior are all he needs. You are a dream, one that he would never wish to wake from...

As much as all of this sounds in his head... As great as it would be for things to work as he wants... You would never believe that. Not when his weak, failure of a body has shown you otherwise...

And still, you tried so hard and delivered him a taste of Heaven. You did all you could in such an impossible state... You achieved so much for someone like him.

His chest aches for you. His flesh is too cold without you...

You still haven't come back yet... Even when you do... Will you be able to look at him the same? Or, every time you look at him, will you only see the weak-half man that he truly is? Is that how you'll see him from now on?

Please... Please, anything but that...

He'll try whatever he can, do whatever is necessary to change; to be better than this. He has to... For you... For him... For the both of you.


	74. Chapter 74

Brzzzzzzzz! Brrrzzzt!

Brzzzzzzzz! Brrrzzzt!

Muted and faint as it is, the shock-waves of vibrations pass through his prone limbs like a volatile roll of thunder. He groans at the throbbing inside his skull, coughing and hacking at the dry and acrid, sterile air in the bright world around him. A sucking, nasally snort brings with it a bumbled sense of awareness upon a breath and dread to well within his overworked chest.

Where is he?

When did he fall asleep?

What fucking time is it?!

Brzzzzzzzz! Brrrzzzt!

Brzzzzzzzz! Brrrzzzt!

Glasses askew and smeared with some sort of questionable bodily oil, his blurry eyes squint at the lit squiggles once he manages to fish the offending device from the cushions beneath his sore body. He can't see worth a damn, but that blob of turquoise is one he'd recognize anywhere.

Finally!

"V!" Sloppy finger-work nearly declines the call. "Shit-!" The hacker fumbles, dropping the device on his stomach and it slides down to the plush fabric before he finally picks it up, saving the gadget from a nasty plummet to the hard floor below and pressing the right button on held breath.

"V-! Where were you-?! What's wrong? Is everything okay?" His mussed red hair bounces in odd directions as he shoots off one question after another, an absent swipe of his hand knocking his spectacles back into place somewhat and raking through the mess atop his head. All his nerves are tingling, there's a vice-like grip on his stomach that tightens as each query makes itself heard, needing answers... Needing something than this clueless flailing.

There are too many factors at play and not enough solid ground to stand on.

Luciel missed so many opportunities before, now is the time to make up for it all.

"...Luciel." A wobbly baritone sigh at the other end of the line sends his nerves into a frenzy, even with it's calm demeanor. "We've finally connected. It's been so long... Are you well?" The older gentleman sounds... strange, but that could be because of any number of things; lack of rest, overeating, imbibing in some of his favorite wine, taking a jog... What ever it is, it's making each word thick, drawn and cut, almost as if they are being carefully crafted and then thrust out into the open prematurely.

But, that isn't what matters right now.

"...Am I well?" He grips the loose denim at his the curve of his knee. Really, this man goes missing for God-knows-how-long and then decides to call like it's just a regular Tuesday afternoon. "Am I... well?" Seven repeats, unable to hide the sarcasm that drips from every syllable or the hollow, bemused laughter that punctuates it. "I'm fantastic!

The government is on a manhunt,

the agency is imploding,

I have so many bounties on my head that I could sell it myself and my descendants centuries from now could be set for a straight decade, ALSO I haven't heard a single thing from you in what seems like months! So... peachy. Very peachy... And you? Just what have you been so busy with?"

"... You're having a hard time-"

...No shit...

"-Yes! Yes, I am... So, please take some pity on me and tell me what the hell's going on." The groggy hacker is finding it difficult to school his emotions. Letting go of his jeans, his stinging digits rub absent circles at his temple. Why state the obvious? Why isn't V giving him a straight answer... at least one...?

"...This might not be the best time, then..." So low the sentence is barely just buzzing, tickling the redhead's ear, the older man seems to be musing more to himself than responding.

"I get that I didn't take your calls before, but what exactly do you mean by 'the best time?'

WE deal with matters of secrecy. Both of us. You know that what ever you have to say will be safe with me...

Why are you hesitating? I don't understand..." Seven hates how he sounds; pleading, desperate. this helpless feeling of not knowing all that he needs, the unknown slipping through his grasp as he whines at what seems like an impenetrable wall. But, he doesn't have the time to sit around feeling sorry for himself. The minutes are just wasting away like this. "-Wait! No... I found what I was looking for! I have all I need to get to that group that targeted us a few years ago.-"

"Luciel, please hold o-" V chokes, sputtering hurriedly but that doesn't deter Seven from the track his mind is set on relaying. Not when he has a chance of revealing this small victory, not when they've taken their actions to the next level.

"We can report them, V.

We can clean out the people that caused Rika to do... that. They won't be able to force anyone else...

That person... we can get them out..." His sentiment loses its strength, remembering those cold feelings that wracked him years ago after the news... Remembering the fear and desperation he felt hours, days ago when their infiltration left an entire building of innocent people in danger of his own creation.

That guilt...

"Don't..." The older man sighs, the purring trill sending a shiver to the nape of the hacker's neck. "Just... Don't."

"What? Why?-"

"I'm sorry... I can't- Not right now." No longer does the hum of connection whir in Seven's ear. Just silence and the faint thud of appliance sending echoes through the halls in his surround.

"He... hung up." What? what the hell just happened? What did he mean he 'can't'...? 'Not right now?'... What?

Too many questions and not enough pieces to fit together a single cohesive answer. This is... frustrating. Worrying. What does he do? He can't sit still! He can't just waste time sleeping and twiddling his thumbs. V should know that you are still a factor here. Your life, your well-being... The note that rests on his desk and your phone that bulks and weighs heavily in his pocket... this is all he can grasp onto right now.

The leader of the R.F.A should be just as invested in this... His fiancee' was the first victim, after all... He should know just how important this is to him... But, he just brushed it off; disconnected the call in order to hear no more of what the former agent had to say. He feels... rejected. Dismissed...

Was it the teal-haired man's emotions that were to blame? Was it a subject that is still too sore to breach...?

No.

No. Even so, someone like you that is hanging in the balance matters more than the past.

As of right now, Luciel would like to believe you are still living and breathing... Waiting for someone to reach out; to pull you from that place... to save you.

How could V just ignore that? It's... weird... Something seems out of place. Wrong. 'Not right now?' Then when? Does he intend to wait until it's too late?

The redhead can't... He can't stand knowing that he's capable of doing something and not doing anything about it. He has coordinates. He has everything he needs...

The older man has been too spotty as of late. It's hard to put faith in someone that is absent... Should he trust those broken, cryptic words? The phone drops into his lap as his palms rub at blurry amber eyes beneath his lifted, smudged lenses, a groan rumbling in his sore throat.

None of this makes sense.

Nothing about this makes any damn sense!

He wants to listen to his friend, wants to follow the direction of the man that never steered him wrong before... He wants to abide the older gentleman that rid him of his past and set him into a purposeful path that had some semblance of a future... He longs to listen to the one whom saved his brother from that evil woman...

But this... this is just too fishy. There's is something in his lack of words that makes Seven's conscience suspect that there is more going on with V that meets the eye. Something deeper. Something secret that he won't share with the hacker that looks up to him almost paternally.

He needs resolution.

But... Can he even do this alone? This dependency he's hanging onto is pathetic, he knows... That's why he has to answer the call to action.

How though?

He groans again, burying it deep within the cup in the seam of both hands, letting the muffled yell bounce off his own face and then the walls surrounding him. Just as much as he would rather not doubt the leader, he also needs to keep true to his gut.

This sucks. This moral limbo...

"I see you stopped snoring, but god, that sound is just as awful." That calculated annoyed timbre nearly makes the hacker jump out of his skin. Barely through the film of filth that clouds his glasses can he see the silhouette of the tall brunette leaning in the doorway holding... something that's swaying in their moving hands. "Quit that."

Then, it hits him. The vague memory of slumping into his home, the cush of couch and the hard hold of barring arms.

"You... choked me out." The sludge makes his glare less intense than he'd like.

"Yep." On a reply just as easy and airy as a sigh, they hum, perfecting the lines being coaxed out of the fabric under their deft ministrations.

"Why the hell would you do that?! You know about all the shit that is going on, and yet you pull that on me?

Why would you do that?

What the fuck, Mary?!" He's frustrated. He's still tired despite himself. He's been useless for what was probably hours now and the one guy that could shed any light on the current circumstances, probably, just ended his call without giving him any sort of consolation. Everything just bubbles out of his mouth at that moment, all the pent up anger, all the worry... They are there, and despite himself, onto them he vents. Yet he does at least try to hang on to that thin shred of self, just enough to soften his outburst.

"First of all, shut up and quit calling me 'Mary...' unless you want me to gag you with your own undergarments." The thing in the ex-maid-agent's hand stops dangling, finding some form in the hold of the brunette's current blob-like hold as they turn down the hall, calling into it from over their shoulder. "You needed rest, else you were going to end up getting yourself killed. It's been days, Zero-Seven. You can't possibly make any sound decisions with sleep-deprivation AND paranoia fucking with your head." The faint, sure footsteps start growing louder again and Luciel rips the glasses off of his face, trying to clear off the dirty lenses as much as he can with the cloth of his shirt. It only manages to smear it around in iridescently shining streaks, but clear enough to actually make out actual lines now.

Still, his companion's words doesn't make the complicated storm of emotions that clench at his chest any lighter. Sure, they might have been looking out for him... but who's looking out for you? That time he spent unconscious, he could have been driving. He could have done SOMETHING... Couldn't he?

Vanderwood breaches the edge of the doorway, a shirt being worked in their gloved hands and a pair of trousers hanging at the crook of their elbow. A stern look darkening those earthy eyes that makes the hacker avert his own. "...I would have been fine." Barely, he mumbles in his own defense.

"You would have driven into a wall..." In record time, the shirt is tucked neatly under their arm as the pants are pulled from the crook and shaken out, expertly creased and halved. "All the while probably thinking you're on the right track and getting away from guns.

You didn't see yourself when you stumbled in here. I did." Once more, the ex-agent stacks the clothes in their hands and pivots, striding down the hall. "Anything that you think you could have done at that point would have been useless. You had nothing left to run on and I wasn't about to have you dying for something stupid, leaving me here wondering when it'd be okay to leave." The redhead can hear the sigh as their stride pauses mid-corridor. "And, exactly what would I have done?

You dragged me into this mess. I have no where else to go, anymore." Their pace picks up once more, a hollow rustling and the resounding slam and click of metal and hinge giving the hacker a momentary reprieve of huffing chuckle in the midst of his internal plights. It's a little nice to see such a domestic scene in the middle of serious conversation. "So, now that you've rested I need to know: exactly how many hours should I wait before claiming all those cars as my own? Hmm?

Hell, if you are so set on rushing head-first into death, you can at least give me that much.

I could sell them and live off the money for a good while, searching for a normie job."

"You're so cruel.

One doesn't simply sell a garage full of sports cars." Luciel wets his chapped lips, pulling the bottom one in between his teeth to nibble away a pesky skin tab. " And... I'm not that stupid."

"...Could have fooled me." The brunette hums as they perch against the frame moulding, cradling a pile of freshly laundered boxers. An idea strikes him while watching pair after pair of his underoos being tended by this quasi-maid.

"... Do me a few favors and you can pick any car you want."

"That sounds fake, but I'm listening." A brow quirked, hands never once stopping their work on the fabric within them as one after another they are folded and tucked underneath an arm and replaced with the next. They have on occasion wondered what it would feel like to freely take one of those vehicles for a leisurely spin, and right now, they are on the brink of madness with the list of things they can square away getting shorter by the second. "I'm all ears as long as it doesn't involve my head in plain sight of a scope, boy."

"Heh... No, no. What I need from you is your expert eyes and your ability to send a few texts if something looks shady." Head aching, heart hurting at the thought of betraying his friend's word to wait and the thought of losing one of his precious babies like a lead weight sinking in his stomach, the hacker swallows, clearing the lump forming in his throat. He's not alone. Not really... Right?

"Okay..." Brandishing a neat, newly folded pile, Vanderwood drawls in unconvinced intrigue. "You know what? I'm in. I've got nothing better to do while I wait anyway. And if I get an expensive vehicle out of the deal, I'll be better off.

If not... I'll just kill you off myself and inherit them by force." The ex-agent smirks, knowing that their words have sparked some form of panic to deliver on the goods promised and simultaneously sating their semi-sadistic side to a point. He doesn't need to know that the brunette is joking.

It's just better this way.

That crooked simper is a look that makes Seven's guts feel like they're twisting into tight knots and his blood run a few degrees chillier.

Maybe it would have been better if he was alone.

Maybe.

"I mean everything I say, Mary. I'm an honorable man!" He'd say anything at this point to ward off alluring thoughts that might make his death more appealing for sake of powerful engines and sleek framework. He can't die yet. Nope. Not when he has important shit to do. It's not like they mean it though, right? Heh...

He giggles inwardly in a slow, shallow attempt to convince himself of that as that smirk on his comrade's face drops into an annoyed, sharp scowl.

"'Honorable,' you say? That name popped out of your mouth again.

I swear, I will get the club if you don't stop that shit." That is something they will not hesitate to do. They've never agreed to be called Mary and a whack or two won't seriously injure the hacker. They'd just need to be careful of Luciel's hands and feet, yeah? Everything else is fair game.

"Noted." Both palms up in a feeble placating withdrawal, the hacker blows out a sigh through pursed lips that whistles into the quiet, awkwardly foreboding atmosphere.

"..." An expectant shake of the head has brown locks swaying around their hardened face, an inward sigh makes their nostrils flare like a pissed-off bull ready to charge. "...And?"

"So... About those favors, huh?"

That little shit.


	75. Chapter 75

Quiet.

It's so quiet

...too quiet.

The silence between the two of you as you lay back to back in bed is deafening in its lack of voice. Each of your thunderous heartbeats echo in your noisy mind as you try your hardest to keep your breath from syncing up with the disciple's. It feels wrong to respire in the same rhythm, when you're already taking up much more cover and mattress than you should be allowed.

You are all too aware of those fans from the towers buzzing their way to keep the electronics cool; aware of the zips of fabric along skin and every small twitch that brings them about. Those dim lights of blue and lit black that alternate and kept you pacified from pure pitch now keep your mind anchored into the present, unable to drift into a lull of sleep cozied up to damp towel and hot skin and that curved column of spine that simultaneously makes you want to lean further into it and skitter away in shame.

You want nothing more than wrap your arms around him, to pull close that back to your chest and stomach, to breathe in the scent of him as you nestle into pillow and the little dip between his shoulder blades. You want to let the heat from his slumber-heavy body seep into your flesh and remind you of the stings and burns; to help trick you into thinking you've suffered for your sin...

But, that wouldn't be right.

Because you did that for you.

You did that to feel numb.

You did all of that so that you didn't have to feel... It wasn't to make up for something that is so impossible to apologize for.

So, here you lay; schooled limbs curled and locked as close in as possible as not to disturb the delicate balance between wakefulness and dream for Saeran while your lungs strain from lack of tempo and your ears pulse with the cacophony of silence. Your clenched lids thrum in flashes from the inner jolt of each beat of your heart, with every twinge when you hold your breath just a little longer so that you wont exhale and inhale at the same time as him.

...It's so cold... Is he feeling as cold as you, lost in unconsciousness? Does he feel like something has broken away, just as painfully as you do?

You almost sigh, but stop yourself afraid to let the sound eek out into the atmosphere and disturb the restfulness he's found for himself after you...

Your grip tightens upon the fabric, unmoving aside from that twitch.

He knows you're there. The scent of bath soap and steam clung to your skin as you wandered in without sound. He hadn't opened his eyes; couldn't find the right words to say after thinking millions of them through your absence. By the time he found courage to open his mouth, you were already in bed, facing away; so close and yet so far apart. Every time he'd think about gathering you into his arms, he's second guess himself remembering how deftly you'd escaped from him before and how long you took to return.

Does he have the right to hold you? Should he just allow you your space?

Your sleep is a rough one, he can tell by how tense your body is and how stiff it feels against his own; the ragged way you inhale, the delayed release... What he wouldn't give for some nerve to swallow his own pride and envelope you, to take the bad images inside your head into his own and suffer them for you.

Yet, he doesn't move. He doesn't speak.

Saeran lays with you beneath these warm sheets with empty, frigid arms.

It's not supposed to be this cold.

Why did he have to make it this cold?


	76. Chapter 76

What?

Exactly what just happened?

Jumin's hazy eyes focus on nothing in particular while Elizabeth purrs soothingly against his palm as absently he lays languid strokes along her silky coat. Staring unseeing into the dark corners of his night-drenched room, he lets his mind work the conversation over and over again.

It was strange. Why did he answer the phone? Normally he'd let voicemail take over and let the caller redirect or leave a message so that he could deal with business during more suitable hours. Why does he feel this twinge in the center of his chest? Why do his fingers twitch, hidden as if just a gentle scratch at his cat's shoulders; unnerved by nothing and everything all at once?

He has to awaken in a mere hour or so, and yet, here he is; the blanket pooling around his waist, the weight of the pet in his lap warm, emitting the only sound that rumbles through the otherwise silent room. And yet, that somber voice of the association's jokester runs through his mind on loop, drowning out even the pacifying rumbles that normally grab his full attention.

"V finally called me." Luciel had started. "I have a bad feeling." He had said. The CEO had not heard from his friend himself in quite some time; knowing that the hacker had gotten a call before him had stirred some undue, irrational irritation he'll admit.

Not once did Luciel laugh; not a single distasteful joke was cracked, no begging to see his animal. His voice even seemed tamed by strain and sober worry. Nothing was right with the short conversation. It felt wrong, like listening to nails rake relentlessly upon a chalkboard or hearing camera clicks coming from within your own home when you were sure you were the only one there.

He has faith in his friend, that has never wavered. But not knowing all the details regarding his peer in the R.F.A or the anxious suspicion towards his teal-haired companion bothers him.

"I can't keep waiting anymore. I have to move... I think I'm going to need your help." Jumin had questioned this line, confused by lack of context and obscurity; even more so when he received half-truths and only more questions. Still, he found himself agreeing to the boy's request, unable to quiet his own curiosity and the inherent need to learn more; to grasp at the situation, to calm and to control it in such a way that the problem doesn't become bigger than is necessary in the long run.

All Luciel requested was security and transport; a safeguard in case such things were necessary. Not too far-fetched a thing to ask of someone as well-connected as he.

"Before-" This was uttered quite a few times... What could it mean? What has happened 'before' that could rattle the hacker? What could have happened 'before' that involved his dearest friend?

The injury to the man's eyes comes to mind in vivid imagery along with the many frustrations of his refusal to be treated; his waning contact... the loosening of knit that held the R.F.A together, torn by tragedy.

Everything about this makes him uneasy. As troublesome as his predicament may be, he's done his part; contacted the head of his security team and informed his assistant Jaehee of possible changes to his schedule and resources.

He could sleep now; reclaim the small nap to carry him over until the next few winks. He could lay down right at this moment, clear his mind and let the warmth of his Elizabeth pull him under until the alarm dictates his eventual rise.

But, then again... he can't.

Not when he's waiting for something, anything that could come to him in form of vague clue; not when he knows that coordinates may make their way onto the screen of his phone and the call-to-action may be upon him.

No. For now, he'll rise. Taking the inconsequential hit to his rest in order to work on pushing his project papers to finish, advance his schedule just enough so that necessary doesn't interfere with necessary.

He mutters a thick, low apology to the beautiful creature as she jumbles in a seemingly fluid, graceful wave and mews at his shift, giving her chin a light stroke with his knuckle before rising from his bed in practiced regularity, finessing his house-shoes onto his limbs in a single movement before they catch an unpleasant chill.

Calm is the best way to deal with the unknown. Losing himself to a sea of sheets and the ache of his hand to signatures is the best way to achieve such stillness, subduing his mind to the documents and facts in front of him. Each step is softer than the last, his slippered feet patting delicately along the surface of the darkened hall as his eyes adjust more the further he traverses, past the bathroom and guestroom, onward into the open, inviting frame of his home office.

Jumin only flicks on the light after carefully pulling the door to a barely cracked close; enough to allow entrance to Elizabeth should she awaken, yet not enough for the stream of light to disturb her slumber. Manila folders filled with eggshell sheets littered with tape tab arrows of red sticking out of their sides are stacked as straight and neat as he'd left them only hours before, his stamps and seals and pens lined up in perfect descending rows are still in order upon his desk of heavily varnished, polished wood. Only the ticking of the clock and the cool, clean musk of timber greet him as he takes it all in, breathing deep to knock the last vestiges of sleep from his mentality, anchoring in an early morning focus before he takes his seat.

There is much to do, as there always is.

His eyes flutter to a shut, lungs filling in a slow pull.

This is just another day; a day like many before and many still yet to come.

His wrists rest at the edge, fingers stretching, flexing, preparing for the onslaught of penmanship and precision to come. His exhale whispers past barely parted lips as focus returns to his gaze.

Yes... Just another day.


	77. Chapter 77

He couldn't do it.

Not right now, at least. Tension is running much too high, emotions heightened. It is best to let them cool off. It would be better for him to gather his words, compile them in such a way that understanding surpasses confusion; whether it forever paints him as a villain in the eyes of the young hacker or not.

This call was a test; a failure, but a test nonetheless to see if he could gather enough of himself to admit his wrongs. He couldn't pass, timing be damned. It's been too long that he's lived this lie, and still V could not speak the truth.

Will she be upset?

Leaves and bloom buds tickle the palms of his hands as he nudges around the chilled ground with the tips of his toes, feeling for his path in the form of bumps and scrapes. He can hear a distant tapping, the low thrall of a bored hum carrying through the late night or early morning chirps and clicks of bug life and sleepy birds as a slight breeze catches in a dull roar at the shells of his ears. He's probably taken too long... Working up 'courage' just to dial with only the incoherent self-ward mutterings of a sinner to give.

V is aware that his trudging is enough to try the patience of a saint; this poor believer paces ahead is no different. The teal-haired man's stumblings having awakened the kind man, this groggy fellow was generous enough to lead him out here. But for what?

"Everything settled, sir?" The hum peters off into the sluggish drawl of a soul yearning to be back in the comfort of his linens. V can only sigh and put on a smile toward the voice.

"Yes... That should be all right now, I think." A light pressure from the tips of two digits help to steer the blind man through the turns and corners of the compound's veritable maze. So foggy is his memory that he can only faintly picture it as his mind mentally maps it out.

He's counted his steps, taken note of directional cues.

If he were a more reliable sort, maybe this would help. One day, he'll have it down. One day, he will memorize his new world, this endless sea of dry black ink and noises and scent... But this is not that day.

The moment his fingertips land upon the familiar doorframe, V breathes in deep, and releases it in a slow-flowing current. "Thank you. I'm sorry for all the trouble."

"No trouble, really." The man bites back a yawn that only serves to make his voice thick in its hush. "Glad to help."

With a doubled pat on V's shoulder and the telling taps of feet upon floor retreating from a solid sound into the whisper of an echo, the blind man stands at the entrance, letting the ambient rasps of rhythmic breath rinse away the haunting thoughts of his failed attempts.

He'll have to tell her when she wakes.

He'll need to admit his shortcomings, to be honest with her as well as himself.

He shouldn't disturb the peace in this moment. Shouldn't rouse her from the soft world of dreams contentment just to fill her with unease and disappointment. No... The morning will come with the rising sun. He'll let her have this... It's all he can give.

Until he can find the strength within himself to speak the truths.

Until the time comes whence he can finally confess his sin.


End file.
